u\ 


A  SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


WHEREIN  IS  WRITTEN  THE  HISTORY  OF  HER 
"DOORSTEP  BABY,"  A  FANCY  WHICH  IN 
TIME  BECAME  A  FACT  AND  CHANGED  A  LIFE 


BY 

ALYN  YATES  KEITH 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10    MILK    STREET 


A  SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


WHEREIN  IS  WRITTEN  THE  HISTORY  OF  HER 
"DOORSTEP  BABY,"  A  FANCY  WHICH  IN 
TIME  BECAME  A  FACT  AND  CHANGED  A  LIFE 


ALYN  YATES  KEITH 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND    SHEPARD    PUBLISHERS 

10   MILK   STREET 
1895 


COPYRUJHT,    18!«,    BY    LKE   AND   SlIKF 


Alt  Right*  Reserved 


A  SPINSTKR'S  LEAFLETS 


Ki.KCTR<rmiK«  IIY  C.  J.  PETERS  &  SON 
I'KEKKWOBK  iiv  K<K:KWKI.I.  *  CHI -WIIII.L 


OXE    WHOM    THE     OLD    HOUSE 
SHELTERED 


THESE  LEAFLETS  AKE  REPRINTED  THROUGH  THE  COURTESY  OF  THE 
NEW  YORK  EVENING  POST 

Hi   WHOSE   COLUMNS   THEY   FIRST  APPEARED 


A    SPINSTER'S    LEAFLETS 


MY  neighbors  will  tell  you  if  you  inquire  of  them, 
and   possibly  if   you  do  not,  that  I  live  quite  alone, 


which  is  not 
Primarily  I 
house, which 
the  shell  is 
It  is  a  very 
as  old,  in 


i: 


strictly  true, 
have  my 
is  to  me  what 
to  the  turtle, 
old  shell  — 
fact,  as  the 

independence  of  my  country.  I  speak  of 
it  with  respect  as  the  Century  House, 
which  is  not  literally  true  without  the 
preface  of  a  plus 
sign.  Its  roof  is 
mossy,  and  the  shin- 
gles that  protect  its 
sides  curl  and  fringe  raggedly  at  the  edges.  I  have 
seen  the  shell  of  a  turtle  bend  along  the  thin  margin 
when  exposed  too  long  to  wet  weather. 

But  if  the  house  is  not  young  neither  am  I,  and  we 
fit  each  other  without  a  wrinkle. 
1 


2  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

The  sun  looks  in  at  my  kitchen-porch  punctually 
every  morning,  without  discredit  to  the  almanac  over 
the  mantel,  and  hangs  on  the  horizon  with  raised  eye- 
brows for  a  last  look  at  my  bedroom  window,  where  the 
morning-glories  make  a  summer  show  that  it  would  be 
hard  to  surpass.  My  sitting-room,  lifted  one  step  above 
the  kitchen,  like  a  sort  of  higher  life,  holds  my  fireplace, 
my  cat.  my  corner  cupboard,  and  my  books.  I  name 
my  fireplace  first,  because  fire  is  to  me  a  symbol  of  all 
life.  When  I  draw  the  curtain  of  an  autumn  evening 
and  light  my  fire,  my  world  is  at  once  peopled. 

My  cat  is  a  link  between  the  past  that  lives  vigorously 
in  my  thoughts  and  the  realm  of  books  wherein  the 
physical  life  is  often  lower  than  the  spiritual.  My 
books  belong  to  the  world  of  fancy,  of  faith,  and  of 
hope.  But  my  cats  are  present  realities  —  for  they  are 
in  the  plural  though  I  named  but  one  —  that  keep  me 
close  to  the  life  of  Nature  who  clothes  her  children 
according  to  her  unadulterated  taste.  Mine  are  yellow, 
with  a  vigorous  hue  that  suggests  autumn  in  its  prime. 
People  who  admire  safrano  roses  have  a  way  of  cavil- 
ling at  yellow  cats,  as  in  the  last  generation  it  was  the 
custom  to  raise  frivolous  objections  to  red  hair. 

My  cats  are  named  Kittery  and  Cattery.  The  first 
was  suggested  by  Joe,  the  little  man  who  brings  my 
daily  half-pint  of  milk.  He  has  just  begun  school,  and 
geographical  names  take  possession  of  him.  Following 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  3 

his  suggestion  I  named  the  mother  cat.  She  was  simply 
That  Cat  before  Joe's  day;  that  is,  the  day  of  my 
obligation  to  him.  She  is  the  progenitress  of  many 
families,  now  scattered :  a  cat  fond  of  her  ease,  of  her 
will,  and  of  mice  catched  for  her  in  traps. 

Once  I  tried  to  lose  her,  and  hired  Joe  to  cany  her 
five  miles  away  in  the  milk-wagon,  and  drop  her  near 
a  good  barn  where  she  could  make  a  living  if  she  would. 
But  she  was  back  before  him,  with  such  a  look  of  for- 
giveness 011  her  hungry  face  that  I  took  her  in  and  went 
without  milk  in  my  tea.  Three  weeks  afterwards  Kit- 
tery  was  my  abundant  reward.  She  was  a  triplet ;  the 
others  I  do  not  speak  of. 

Kittery  is  another  kind  of  cat.  She  is  not  only  a  fine 
mouser,  but  she  can  pounce  upon  a  rat  and  kill  it 
quicker  than  an  authorized  terrier;  and  she  goes  out 
at  night,  like  a  nineteenth-century  Donna  Quixote,  to 
right  the  wrongs  of  the  neighbors  and  mount  guard 
over  their  corn-bins.  In  the  morning,  when  her  watch 
and  ward  are  over,  she  comes  and  taps  three  times  on 
my  window,  and  I  rise  and  take  her  in  for  a  nap  on  the 
warm  foot  of  my  bed,  at  a  little  personal  inconvenience. 
It  is  but  a  small  reward  for  her  scientific  services,  and 
a  cheap  way  of  showing  regard  for  my  townsfolk.  I 
have  known  scores  of  human  beings  who  were  less 
neighborly  and  infinitely  less  interesting  as  individuals 
than  she. 


4  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

At  table  I  set  a  chair  for  her.  and  she  waits  with 
composed  dignity  and  the  air  of  a  trusted  serving-maid 
until  I  push  back  my  own  chair  and  serve  her  myself 
bv  the  kitchen  fire.  Occasionally  she  so  far  forgets  her 
manners  as  to  put  up  a  beckoning  paw  which  never 
touches  the  table  ;  but  one  shake  of  my  head  reminds 
her  that  she  holds  her  place  for  life  subject  to  good 
conduct.  And  so  she  stands,  or  rather  sits,  just  behind 
me.  alert  but  not  eager,  biding  her  time.  With  Cattery 
it  is  far  otherwise.  What  she  cannot  effect  by  stealth, 
she  accomplishes  by  effrontery.  Not  a  window,  not  a 
door,  escapes  her  stretched  neck  and  prying  claws.  She 
demands  admission  in  a  poor-relation  sort  of  way,  and 
takes  it  when  refused  even  if  her  progress  be  partly 
stopped  with  the  broom ;  a  humiliation  that  she  never 
recognizes  nor  resents. 

But  what  can  you  expect  of  a  cat  in  the  first  genera- 
tion ?  She  came  to  me  a  tramp,  and  insisted  upon  her 
rights  with  the  level  front  of  a  Roman  citizen.  She 
snatched  at  bones,  watched  the  pantry-door  as  a  well- 
bred  cat  watches  a  mouse,  and  was  forever  laying  plans 
to  enter  it  ahead  of  me,  her  mistress  by  compulsion,  and 
steal  whatever  her  paws  could  compass  without  detec- 
tion. Broken  china  caused  her  no  pangs  but  physical 
ones.  Her  sense  of  honor  was  wholly  in  abeyance. 

I  must  here  confess  that  I  was  positively  if  not  sin- 
fully glad  when  she  set  her  foot  on  a  crystal  heirloom 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  5 

as  she  was  investigating  a  tempting  sweetbread  that 
stood  just  above  reach,  and  was  laid  up  in  sticking- 
plasters  for  a  Aveek.  Once  I  had  the  misfortune  to  shut 
her  paw  in  the  crack  of  a  door  where  she  had  insinuated 
it  in  the  vain  hope  of  being  wanted  within.  When  I 
hurried  to  release  her  she  took  advantage  of  my  weak 
compunction,  darted  in,  flew  to  the  sitting-room,  and 
covered  my  company  easy-chair  cushion  with  yellow 
hairs  before  I  could  overtake  her.  She  is  always  setting 
traps  for  me  that  I  fall  into  innocently.  But  my  well- 
bred  Kittery  has  educated  me  to  think  nobly  of  her 
race ;  and  for  her  sake  I  tolerate  the  plebeian  mother 
whom  I  never  invite  to  my  sitting-room,  though  I  often 
find  her  skulking  under  my  chair  at  table-time,  which 
she  calculates  with  the  accuracy  of  a  mathematician. 
One  night  she  eluded  me,  usurped  Kittery's  chair,  put 
out  one  thieving  paw  while  I  was  blindly  saying  grace, 
and  dragged  from  the  platter  my  supper  of  broiled 
chicken-wing,  which  left  a  brown  trail  on  my  freshly 
ironed  tablecloth ;  then,  darting  out  to  the  kitchen  like 
a  yellow  streak  of  light,  she  found  the  wood-house  door 
in  collusion,  dashed  through,  and  so  out  to  the  bound- 
less universe. 

I  gave  Kittery  the  remnant  of  my  supper,  by  way  of 
amends,  put  a  chestnut-stick  011  the  fire  which  had 
burned  low  with  the  unusual  draught,  and  swallowed 
my  cold  tea  and  my  chagrin  with  an  effort.  White 


6  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

birch  burns,  singing  us  it  consumes,  with  a  gentle,  lady- 
like flame  creeping  along  the  pretty  bark  speckled  like 
a  woodthrush's  breast,  daintily  courtesying  to  every 
breath  of  air.  and  sending  stars  in  advance  up  the  black 
chimney  throat  to  show  the  way.  It  makes  a  lovely 
fire  to  sit  by  with  books  or  work.  But  if  your  spirit  is 
'•riled."  a  stout  chestnut-stick  is  best.  It  growls  and 
sputters  and  refuses  to  burn  till  you  believe  it  and 
start  for  a  bit  of  pine  to  help  it  along,  when  it  snaps 
out  some  hidden  live  coal  with  such  vigor  that  you 
lose  sight  of  your  grievance  in  lively  concern  for  your 
property. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


IT 


BACKED      into      the 
north-east  angle  of   my 
sitting-room   stands  my 
good   corner    cupboard. 
I  use  the  adjective  with 
discrimination.         The 
gr~~     knight  of  old  was  proud  of  his 
good  sword,  which  was  probably 
rusted  with  human  blood. 

My  good  cupboard  speaks  to  me  only 
of  peace  and  good  cheer,  and  on  its  venerable  shelves  the 
past  lives  in  unforgetting  youth.  All  that  I  most  prize 
of  memory  or  tradition  is  stored  here  ;  all  that  I  can  be- 
stow by  will.  But  upon  whom  ?  I  wish  I  knew.  On 
the  top  shelf,  beyond  tip-toe  reach  of  any  chance  sneak- 
thief,  six  solid-silver  teaspoons  lie  rolled  in  fine  old 
homespun  linen,  each  marked  "  N.  B."  for  my  mother's 
grandmother.  The  rest  of  her  silver  was  apportioned 
to  kindred  of  differing  degrees,  as  good  English  gold  is 
doled  out  to  ramifying  branches  of  the  Queen's  family. 
Six  other  spoons,  marked  "  T.  C."  for  my  father's 


8  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

mother,  who  was  named  Thankful  in  an  age  when 
people  had  little  material  good  to  be  thankful  for,  lie 
beside  the  first,  in  a  box  whittled  from  pine  by  some 
ingenious  jackknife  of  unknown  ownership. 

Twelve  smaller  spoons,  worn  on  the  right-hand  edge 
of  the  bowl  and  marked  UA.  N.  It."  for  my  own 
mother,  I  keep  subject  to  call  in  a  small  japanned  trap 
that  I  coveted  in  my  childhood,  and  with  them  six 
tablespoons  that  were  laid  up  for  company  as  far  back 
as  I  can  remember,  and  which  it  seems  almost  sacri- 
legious to  use  commonly  now.  Beside  these  stands  a 
notably  ancient  tea-caddy,  unmarked,  which  I  like  to 
fancy  came  over  in  the  Mayflower  with  the  Aldens,  who 
were  in  some  unknown  way  connected  with  our  family. 
I  may  have  dreamed  it,  but  there  is  in  my  mind  a  fading 
impression  that  my  grandmother  told  me  something  of 
the  sort  in  the  days  when  I  used  to  sit  in  her  lap  and 
wonder  at  everything. 

The  lowest  shelf  holds  my  china  heirlooms,  not  a 
piece  of  which  is  nicked  or  cracked,  although  in  daily 
use.  My  platters  and  dinner-plates  of  bright  brown- 
and-white  were  a  romance  in  crockery  to  my  tender 
years,  with  their  pictured  lakes,  whereon  swans  curved 
their  poetic  necks  and  waited  to  be  fed  by  highborn 
ladies  in  ruffs  and  hoops,  who  were  on  the  point  of 
stepping  out  of  a  dozen  summer  arbors,  all  of  the  same 
pattern.  Behind  these  are  ranged  for  ornament  my 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  9 

grandmother's  Lafayette  plates  in  darkest  blue  and  of 
most  melancholy  design,  and  a  tall  decanter  of  old 
Madeira  wine  long  laid  up  for  sickness. 

My  mother's  cherished  tea-set  in  gilt  with  pink  sprigs 
looked  so  coquettish,  so  girlishly  conscious  beside  this 
solemn  array  that  I  moved  it  some  years  ago  to  the 
shelf  above,  and  spread  it  out  to  fill  the  space  and  to 
have  the  gayety  all  to  itself.  Old  and  young  often  do 
best  apart.  When  the  light  at  evening  flickers  on  the 
little  cups  with  their  elbows  out,  I  think  of  figures  in  a 
minuet.  Above  these  and  below  the  top  shelf  I  have  a 
curious  array  of  useless  old  relics  :  pitchers  with  broken 
noses  to  the  wall,  vases  that  no  longer  hold  water, 
cracked  cups  and  cemented  platters,  and  in  the  place 
of  honor,  the  exact  centre,  a  quart  pewter  tankard  of 
incredible  age.  Most  country-towns  have  a  legend  of 
some  unhappy  child  small  enough  at  birth  to  be  put 
into  a  quart  tankard. 

But  I  stop  the  ears  of  my  mind  to  any  improbable 
stories  of  this  kind. 

On  zero  nights  I  even  refuse  to  think  of  them  ;  for 
I  have  learned  that  one's  thoughts  can  be  controlled, 
not  by  thinking  of  all  the  Johns  one  ever  knew,  or 
reciting  the  alphabet  backwards,  or  counting  to  one 
hundred,  but  simply  by  fixing  them  on  some  unalter- 
able point  too  small  to  invite  speculation. 

My  mythical  babe  in  the  tankard  reminds  me  of  my 


10  A    SPIXSTEll'S  LEAFLETS 

dream  that  began  years  ago,  when  I  thought  I  heard  a 
child's  cry  in  the  night.  I  got  up,  lighted  my  bedroom 
candle,  put  on  slippers  and  dressing-gown,  and  went  to 
the  doorstep  where  I  had  often  read  of  babes  being  left, 
and  with  a  reasonable  expectation  of  finding  one  ;  but 
no  such  good  fortune  was  in  store  for  me. 

It  set  me  dreaming  though,  and  I  often  waked 
suddenly,  listening  for  the  cry.  I  think  now  it  was 
only  wandering  cats,  that  often  give  out  a  pathetic, 
human  note  in  the  night.  Cattery  often  does  it,  though 
there  isn't  a  hair  of  pathos  in  her  whole  make-up  ;  so  I 
am  no  more  disturbed  by  sentimental  pities.  In  time 
my  dreams  about  babies  ceased,  and  then  began  my 
day-dreaming. 

Five  years  ago,  when  I  went  fourteen  miles  to  town 
for  a  winter  cloak  at  a  time  after  midwinter  when 
cloaks  were  low  in  price,  I  found  a  left-over  Christmas 
card  that  I  brought  home  and  stood  on  my  sitting- 
room  mantel,  where  it  is  always  before  my  eyes.  I 
think  that  was  really  the  beginning  of  my  definite 
hopes,  rather  than  the  cry  in  the  night.  At  least  I 
prefer  to  think  so.  It  is  the  picture  of  a  yellow-haired 
little  fellow  standing  in  his  nightgown  before  the  fire. 
His  profile  shows  against  the  dark  wall,  and  the  firelight 
is  full  in  his  face.  He  is  holding  both  chubby  hands 
out  to  the  red  warmth.  Behind  him  a  freezing  moon 
looks  through  a  diamond-paned  window  with  holly 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  11 

twigs  above  it,  and  makes  the  back  of  his  little  night- 
gown blue.  The  front  of  it  is  as  yellow  as  the  light  on 
his  face.  I  always  long  to  gather  him  up  in  my  lap 
and  tuck  my  apron  around  his  cold  back  and  warm  his 
pink  little  bare  toes  in  my  hands. 

To  me  he  is  always  "  Philip,  my  King."  If  I  ever 
find  a  baby  on  my  doorstep,  he  shall  be  Philip.  We 
read  now  and  then  of  children  deserted  in  the  night  and 
never  called  for.  George  MacDonald  has  a  lovely 
story  of  a  child  found  in  that  way. 

I  have  even  thought  that  some  poor  mother  might 
come  here  with  a  child  and  die,  and  I  could  rescue  the 
little  creature  from  the  town.  Still  that  would  not 
seem  so  personally  providential  as  a  baby  left  on  one's 
own  doorstep.  There  could  be  no  question  about  that. 
But  no  one  seems  disposed  to  leave  children  in  our 
town  ;  and  if  any  one  should  do  so,  the  child  might 
prove  too  old.  A  "  long  baby  "  is  my  heart's  desire, 
and  I  need  not  scruple  to  say  that  I  lay  up  all  sugges- 
tions from  mothers  with  regard  to  the  cut  and  material 
of  small  clothing.  My  own  "  amber  gods  "  were  long 
since  bleached  and  laid  aside  in  my  choicest  drawer 
with  the  slips  and  petticoats  of  dead  generations.  I 
treasure  rolls  of  soft  flannel,  and  some  years  ago  I 
bought  yards  of  pretty  muslin,  pretending  it  was  for 
aprons  for  myself.  But  it  has  grown  yellow,  and  I 
shall  not  bleach  it  yet. 


12  A   SPIXS  TE  R  'S   LEA  FLE  TS 

There  have  been  times  when  living  alone  was  less 
easy  than  it  is  now.  Once  the  scamper  of  a  mouse 
overhead  would  freeze  my  blood,  and  for  years  I  had 
a  feeling  that  I  might  surprise  a  burglar  behind  my 
pantry-door,  or  walk  through  a  ghost  in  the  garret  of  an 
evening  at  any  time. 

Those  who  always  swing  in  rocking-chairs  don't 
know  the  feel  of  a  good,  sturdy  back  leaning  on  its 
own  muscles.  Neither  do  they  know  the  pain  of  attain- 
ment. I  have  noticed  that  I  can't  empty  all  the  wine 
out  of  a  decanter,  or  all  the  gravy  off  a  platter  even. 
A  little  runs  back  and  keeps  the  old  flavor.  So  I  think 
when  we  are  emptied  of  ourselves,  we  often  find  a  drop 
or  so  left  to  start  with  again  —  a  something  with  the 
properties  of  "  mother  "  in  vinegar  to  give  tang  to  the 
weaker  juices  of  human  nature. 


A   SPINSTER '8  LEAFLETS 


13 


III 


]g          MY  well  is  one  of  my  proudest  pos- 
sessions.    To  me  it  is  like  nothing  in 
nature   so   much   as    a    humming-bird's 
nest.     In  reality,  it  is  like  a  deep  cup, 
lined  from  top  to  bottom.     But  its  lin- 
ing is  the  softest  of  green,  living  moss, 
with  ferns  tender  and  fine  waving  out 
all  along  the  sides  and  leaning  over  to 
see  themselves  in  the   water.      Only  a 
wide,  irregular  strip  of  trampled  turf, 
a    picket-fence    falling    into 
decay,     and     three     sunken 
stone  steps  separate  it  from 
'the  highway;    and  day  after 
day  travellers  see  the  sign,  a 

tin  cup  hanging  on  a  stout  nail  at  the  spout,  and  turn 
in  to  drink.  Many  a  moonlight  night  when  half 
asleep  have  I  heard  the  creak  of  the  well-sweep,  bal- 
lasted with  its  three  great  stones,  and  the  plash  of  the 
mossy  bucket  in  the  sweet,  cold  water,  and  felt  a  thrill 
of  satisfaction  at  the  thought  of  the  Bible  blessing 
implied.  It  is  the  most  I  have  to  give,  and  no  one  is 


14  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

ever  turned  away.  It  may  have  kept  more  than  one 
disgraceful  tramp  from  the  tavern  at  The  Corners  by 
forestalling  thirst  on  the  way. 

Back  of  my  kitchen  and  the  wood-house,  a  one-story 
room  which  turns  its  face  to  the  west  and  is  blind  on 
the  street  side,  lies  my  small  garden-plot.  In  my  young- 
days  there  was  an  outlying  farm  belonging  to  us  which 
Squire  Vann  has  owned  for  a  generation.  The  fence 
has  contracted  like  the  famous  walls  of  the  prisoner  in 
Poe's  tale ;  but  unlike  those  it  leaves  me  fair  breath- 
ing-space, and  nobody  can  take  from  me  the  memory  of 
what  has  been.  I  can  still  go  out  under  my  grape-vine 
arbor  at  the  garden-gate  to  South  Pond,  across  the 
Squire's  pasture,  by  a  footpath  as  devious  and  charming 
as  John  Burroughs's.  Creeping  through  the  worm- 
fence  that  makes  corner  thickets  for  loveliest  spring 
flowers  to  hide  in,  I  follow  a  wavering,  damp  line 
along  the  edge  of  woodland  that  stretches  for  hundreds 
of  acres  to  the  north.  It  is  worth  while  to  come  here 
an  hour  in  advance  of  the  sun,  to  hear  the  birds  tell 
eacli  other  of  their  happy  fortune  in  their  own  freehold. 
There  is  a  dewy  quality  about  their  song  then,  as  if 
they  dipped  their  bills  in  the  leaf-hollows  and  moist 
grasses  to  clear  their  throats  after  sleep. 

South  Pond  hides  behind  the  woodlands  which  send 
down  many  a  springy  trickle  to  help  the  spring  freshets. 
Lily-pads  spring  up  in  a  little  bend  that  starts  to  make 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  15 

acquaintance  with  the  woods,  but  soon  thinks  better  of 
it  and  turns  again  to  the  sun.  Half  a  mile  away  the 
pond  itself  loses  its  holiday  look,  and  goes  sputtering 
and  protesting  over  a  rocky  ledge  of  a  dam  to  work  the 
wheels  of  the  big  paper-mill  below.  After  that  it  sal- 
lies low-spiritedly  through  the  village,  lingers  a  little 
back  of  the  new  South  Church  to  let  bare-legged  ur- 
chins wade  its  shallows  in  summer-time,  narrows  again 
with  important  business  ahead,  and  slips  into  the  harbor 
a  mile  off  with  as  much  haste  as  if  it  had  not  loitered  by 
the  way,  insisting  noisily  like  a  belated  school-boy,  that 
it  got  here  just  as  quick  as  ever  it  could. 

A  turn  in  the  road  hides  my  nearest  neighbor  from 
view,  but  scarcely  from  call.  He  is  an  old  man,  bent  a 
little  from  his  mature  height  by  the  heavy  weight  of 
eighty  years.  Twenty  years  ago  the  church  and  par- 
sonage made  a  little  centre  of  interest  on  Woody  Hill, 
but  when  the  church  was  burned,  by  one  of  those 
strange  accidents  that  occur  sometimes  at  spring  clear- 
ings, the  society  decided  to  build  at  South  Falls,  which 
had  just  sprung  up  like  a  cluster  of  mushrooms  in  the 
breeding  moisture  of  the  new  paper-mill. 

The  younger  people  wanted  a  new  minister  to  har- 
monize with  the  church.  So  Mr.  Craig  came,  fresh 
from  the  seminary  that  each  year  turned  loose  a  score 
or  two  of  young  men  with  young  ideas,  and  Mr.  Timloe 
stayed  on  in  the  old  parsonage  which  the  society  gave 


16  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

him  to  heal  his  wounded  spirit.  It  was  an  old  house, 
sadly  out  of  repair ;  but  the  old  minister  and  his  wife 
were  in  the  same  condition,  and  all  the  money  that 
could  be  begged  or  borrowed  went  to  make  the  new 
parsonage  smart. 

Mr.  Timloe  was  a  quiet,  old-school  gentleman,  whose 
wig,  like  his  creed,  was  a  little  rusty  with  service,  yet 
sat  on  him  awkwardly  as  if  willing  and  waiting  to  be 
exchanged  for  something  better.  His  mind  lingered  in 
the  suburbs  of  modern  thought,  dreading  the  rush  and 
crossed  swords  in  the  open  of  large  centres  of  intelli- 
gence. And  though  he  pricked  up  his  ears  like  a  met- 
tled war-horse  at  every  new  battle-cry,  he  lagged  a  bit 
in  action,  like  one  stiff  in  the  knees  from  long  service, 
and  constrained  to  limp  a  little  in  the  rear  of  hasty  con- 
clusions. 

He  was  a  spiritual  man,  and  often  absent  from  the 
body,  to  which  his  practical  wife  recalled  him  without 
ado.  He  would  sit  for  hours  by  my  fireside,  discussing 
grave  problems  of  this  life  and  the  next  with  such  ab- 
sorption that  he  often  forgot  to  remove  his  hat  until  he 
reached  the  door,  when  he  would  carry  it  home  like 
an  expectant  contribution-box  and  meekly  receive  the 
rebuke  that  lay  in  wait  for  him.  The  umbrella  that  his 
wife  put  into  his  hand  he  would  open  on  a  dry  day  be- 
tween himself  and  the  cold  wintry  sun,  but  use  it  as  a 
staff  in  a  sudden  summer  shower;  and  the  Vaiin  boys 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  17 

insist  that  they  have  seen  him  in  a  sprinkle  holding  his 
cane  above  his  high  silk  hat.  But  the  Vann  boys  are 
untrustworthy  as  news-venders,  because  always  on  the 
lookout  for  something  funny. 

Mrs.  Timloe,  a  large,  decided  woman,  had  her  mind 
fully  made  up  on  all  subjects,  which  were  ticketed  and 
kept  in  tidy  compartments.  She  had  no  feminine  fear 
of  long  rains  and  spring  freshets,  because  the  Bible  had 
said  once  for  all  that  the  world  was  to  be  burned  up. 

She  held  her  small  court  in  a  bedroom  just  off  the 
large  sitting-room  which  was  the  centre  and  pivot  of 
the  house.  For  several  years  she  had  kept  watch  and 
ward  from  her  chimney-corner,  never  moving  from  it 
except  at  meal  times,  when  black  Chloe  dragged  her, 
chair  and  all,  to  the  table,  that  she  might  comment  on 
the  manners  of  her  household.  A  little  fire  smouldered 
on  her  hearth,  and  a  pot  of  some  sort  of  herb-tea  was 
always  brewing  on  the  raked-out  embers.  The  room 
had  a  compound  flavor  of  liniment,  camphor,  dead  air, 
hot  flannel,  and  herbs.  Here  little  Timmy  Brock  came 
at  night  to  say  his  verses  and  his  prayers,  and  to  report 
progress  and  conduct  at  school ;  and  here  he  stood,  like 
a  little  man,  when  damp  feet  were  suspected,  and  took 
his  boneset  tea  made  from  herbs  he  himself  had  gath- 
ered —  a  refinement  of  cruelty,  like  that  of  sending  a 
boy  to  cut  the  birch-stick  for  his  own  flogging. 

Sometimes  he  walked  out  with  his  grandfather  like  a 


18  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

living  illustration  of  the  seasons ;  a  sorry  little  figure 
in  home-made  clothes  large  enough  for  next  year,  which 
lie  never  seemed  to  grow  to.  His  soul  must  have 
shrunk  within  him  at  their  bagginess,  but  he  was  a 
child,  and  helpless. 

Sometimes  as  a  privilege  he  was  allowed  to  sit  up 
away  past  seven  o'clock  and  go  with  his  grandfather  to 
a  neighborhood  prayer-meeting,  the  one  dissipation  of 
his  evenings. 

Mr.  Craig  was  busy  with  the  young  people's  affairs 
in  the  South  Parish,  so  this  special  prayer-meeting  was 
given  over  to  Mr.  Timloe,  a  few  elderly  men  and 
women,  and  his  former  deacons,  who  had  been  retired 
with  their  pastor,  but  retained  their  titles  emeritus. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  19 


IV 


DEACON  THADDEUS  and  Dea- 
con Noadiah  are  distant  cousins 
with  the  same  family  name, 
which  they  lost  by  having  too  much  of  it,  so  that  for 
years  they  have  been  sufficiently  specified  as  Deacon 
Thad  and  Deacon  Diah.  Deacon  Diah,  who  has  a 
sheep-farm,  would  sooner  break  a  small  commandment 
than  laugh  on  the  Lord's  Day,  and  has  lived  for  up- 
wards of  eighty  years  with  no  more  sense  of  humor 
than  one  of  his  own  Southdowns  ;  while  Deacon  Thad, 
who  is  the  soul  of  loving-kindness,  sees  life  itself  in  the 
light  of  a  joke. 

Deacon  Diah  is  a  long,  leathery,  sun-dried  man,  so 
well  preserved  that  he  seems  capable  of  wearing  out  the 
half  of  another  century  in  addition  to  his  inroads  on  this. 
He  delighted  always  in  sounding  Bible  phrases,  and 
rose  every  week  in  his  appointed  place  at  the  prayer- 
meeting  to  exult  in  the  terrors  of  the  Lord,  the  clouds 
and  darkness  round  about  the  Throne,  and  the  thunders 
of  Sinai.  He  was  fond  of  representing  the  Lord  as 
riding  upon  the  whirlwind,  with  garments  dyed  in  blood, 
terrible  in  righteousness,  powerful  to  save.  Sometimes 


20  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

in  a  wild,  prophetic  outburst  he  would  cry :  "  Moab  is 
my  washpot;  over  Edom  will  I  cast  out  my  shoe;" 
which  made  unscriptural  pictures  in  the  worldly  mind. 
Again,  in  a  warlike  spirit,  he  would  shout  in  a  voice 
that  quavered  and  broke :  "  Through  God  we  shall  do 
valiantly :  for  He  it  is  that  shall  tread  down  our  ene- 
mies." Now  Moses  would  have  been  aggressive  by 
comparison  with  Deacon  Noadiah,  who  was  the  meek- 
est of  mankind  and  incapable  of  making  an  enemy. 
"  My  horn  shalt  thou  exalt  like  the  horn  of  a  unicorn  " 
lost  all  spiritual  meaning,  for  the  Deacon  is  very  deaf 
and  carries  a  large  ear-trumpet,  which  fact  caused  me 
anguish  when  he  hit  upon  this  special  quotation,  and 
deep  compunction  in  the  reflective  home  hours  when 
there  is  no  temptation  to  smile.  But  it  was  almost 
impossible  to  follow  him  and  at  the  same  time  resist  the 
Evil  One's  temptation  to  literalness.  "  My  days  are 
like  a  shadow  that  declineth,  and  I  am  withered  like 
grass.  I  am  tossed  up  and  down  like  the  locust.  My 
knees  are  weak  through  fasting,  and  my  flesh  faileth  of 
fatness.  The  ploughers  ploughed  upon  my  back :  they 
made  long  their  furrows."  But  after  the  breathless 
suspense,  the  fear  of  some  strange  passage  of  peculiar 
application,  came  always  the  sublime  climax :  "  The 
Lord  is  my  light  and  my  salvation  ;  whom  shall  I  fear  ? 
The  Lord  is  the  strength  of  my  life ;  of  whom  shall  I 
be  afraid  ?  And  blessed  be  His  glorious  name  forever, 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  21 

and  let  the  whole  earth  be  filled  with  His  glory.  Amen 
and  amen." 

Deacon  Thad,  on  the  contrary,  who  is  the  jolliest 
soul  in  town,  subdued  the  natural  man,  and  prayed  in 
a  tone  of  deep  despondency  that  we  "  might  be  kep' 
from  whatever  we  ough'  to  be  kep'  from;"  that  we 
"  might  be  truly  thankful  that  it  was  as  well  with  us 
as  it  was;  "  that  "our  unworthy  lives  as  mere  worms 
of  the  dust  was  spared  to  see  the  close  of  another 
day;"  ending  with  a  mild  petition  that  "the  Lord 
would  bless  all  those  whom  we  ough'  to  pray  for, 
and  keep  us  to  see  the  light  of  another  morning." 
It  was  a  relief  to  see  once  more  the  old  twinkle  in  his 
eye  as  he  greeted  Sister  Parson  or  Brother  Wray  at  the 
door,  and  joked  in  an  every-day  tone  on  the  "sort  of 
weather  we  was  gettin'  to  pay  for  the  wet  spell."  If 
little  Joe  chanced  to  be  with  him,  he  rubbed  the  boy's 
hair  the  wrong  way  as  he  talked,  or  thumped  him  on 
the  head  as  if  he  had  been  a  big  dog.  He  was  fond  of 
saying  that  Joe  was  his  rowen  crop,  real  green  after  all 
the  rest  had  been  gathered  in. 

Sisters  and  brothers  came  home  yearly  to  Thanks- 
giving with  always  a  new  baby  among  them  ;  but  for 
the  rest  of  the  year  Joe's  was  the  only  young  life  in  the 
house.  His  mother  had  been  an  invalid  since  his  birth, 
and  latterly  shut  in  a  darkened  room ;  but  after  her 
death  a  step-sister  came,  and  Joe  saw  sunnier  days.  In 


2-2  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

an  unconscious  moment  Deacon  Thad  introduced  the 
new-comer  as  his  half-wife's  sister.  She  was  a  kindly 
creature  of  no  more  than  forty  autumns,  who  tempered 
little  Joe's  sore  mourning  for  his  mother  with  unselfish 
tenderness,  and  so  wholly  won  my  heart.  In  time  she 
came  to  be  his  second  mother,  a  position  I  could  have 
accepted  with  gratitude  but  for  the  encumbrance  it 
implied. 

Deacon  Thaddeus  is  a  good  man  and  true ;  but  the 
year  I  bought  my  Christmas  card,  I  took  pains  to  get 
back  all  the  memories  of  my  one  homesick  year  at 
boarding-school.  The  house  itself  had  disappeared,  —  I 
walked  a  mile  to  see :  but  the  people  it  once  held  all 
lived  again  for  me.  They  crowded  the  train  as  I  came 
home  at  night.  The  faces  of  the  college  boys  who  used 
to  meet  our  prim  procession  even  in  recitation  hours, 
and  who  would  walk  home  with  the  teacher  at  our  head 
for  the  privilege  of  opening  the  gate  at  the  seminary 
and  holding  it  till  the  last  one  had  passed  in,  stand  out 
as  plainly  as  faces  carved  on  cameos,  and  with  the  same 
sharpness  of  outline.  But  that  is  too  dead  a  comparison, 
and  they  are  alive,  every  one.  They  simply  are.  I 
hear  their  voices.  I  see  the  young  light  in  their  eyes. 
I  do  not  need  to  remember.  I  only  see  and  hear.  One 
face  I  specially  recall  that  makes  the  thought  of  Deacon 
Thad  ludicrous.  So  I  smile  with  a  mist  before  my  eyes. 

He  married  and  was  killed  in  the  war  —  Joe  always 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  23 

asks  what  war,  when  I  tell  him  stories  about  our  brave 
soldiers,  and  thinks  it  may  have  been  the  war  of  the 
Revolution.  One  day  I  heard  that  his  boy,  whom  he 
never  saw,  was  professor  of  something  or  other  in  the 
college.  It  can't  be  possible  that  he  is  old  enough! 
Neither  can  I  fancy  him  as  a  freshman  even,  shouting 
Lau-re-yare  Ho-rat-e-oos  in  a  tongue  strange  to  his  father. 
Singular,  that  one  man,  and  he  not  a  beauty,  should 
make  all  others  look  plain  forever  after.  But  I  was 
very  young  then,  and  all  things  partook  of  the  nature 
of  miracles.  I  wish  men  and  women  seemed  half  as 
supernatural  now. 

Deacon  Thad  never  lifted  his  hat  to  a  woman  in  his 
life,  and  I  doubt  if  he  ever  thought  quick  enough  to 
open  a  gate  for  one.  He  has  probably  always  gone  first 
through  doors  and  gateways ;  yet  he  was  far  more  of  a 
hero  when  he  shut  himself  away  from  his  family  and 
watched  day  and  night  with  black  Chloe's  husband,  who 
died  of  small-pox,  than  the  man  who  galloped  to  his 
death  at  Shiloh.  But  the  glamour  is  lacking,  and  we 
are  fearfully  and  wonderfully  made  as  to  our  minds  and 
hearts. 

Sometimes  when  Joe  brings  the  milk  at  night  I  coax 
him  in  to  stay  awhile,  and  toast  his  cold  fingers  and 
toes  at  the  kitchen  fire.  He  says  he  doesn't  mind  a  bit, 
but  for  all  he  is  so  brave  I  know  how  half-frozen  fingers 


24  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

feel.  One  night  it  was  snowing  fast,  and  he  looked  like 
a  small  Santa  Claus  as  he  came  through  the  wood-room 
door  with  both  cats  at  his  heels,  Cattery  leading,  of 
course.  I  shook  him  off  and  took  the  broom  to  him, 
and  then  it  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  nice  to 
keep  him  to  tea. 

He  said  it  would  be  jolly  to  stay  all  night  and  shovel 
me  out  in  the  morning,  but  Pa  and  Aunt  Marty  would 
be  scared  to  death  if  he  didn't  come  home. 

•"  Tell  ye  what,"  he  added,  "•  I'll  skit  home  'cross  the 
pond  and  tell  'em." 

He  was  generous  to  all  my  thoughts. 

"  Across  the  pond  in  the  dark,  Joe  ?  " 

"  Ho !  I  ain't  afraid  o'  dark  !  "  and  off  he  went. 

I  hung  the  lighted  lantern  in  the  wood-house,  but  it 
was  like  a  spark  on  a  cotton  string  in  the  whirl  of  snow. 
Thoughts  of  treacherous  holes  in  the  ice  made  me  re- 
pent that  I  had  asked  the  child  ;  and  for  half  an  hour 
I  knew  how  nervous  mothers  feel.  But  in  thirty-five 
minutes  he  was  back,  with  both  cats  tagging  again.  Pa 
had  come  with  him  to  the  fence,  he  said.  Then  he 
picked  up  Kittery  —  "  Kitzy,  my  darling,"  he  called 
her  —  to  warm  her  cold  paws  in  his  colder  ones,  before 
his  overcoat  was  off.  Kit  accepted  invitations,  but 
never  presumed ;  and  we  three  sat  down  before  the  fire 
after  the  wet  things  were  shaken  and  hung  up  by  the 
bellows  to  dry. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  25 

Aunt  Marty  had  rolled  up  warm  woollen  stockings 
and  felt  slippers  with  the  flannel  night-gown,  just  as  a 
mother  would,  so  it  was  now  a  delight  to  hear  the  snow 
dash  against  the  windows.  "  Knock  away,  you  can't 
get  in,"  said  Joe  with  a  sense  of  shelter  and  comfort. 
The  wind  rose,  and  we  could  hear  wild  whirls  of  snow 
and  a  rushing  sound  in  the  trees. 

"What  shall  we  have  for  tea,  Joe?"  I  asked,  when 
the  chill  was  taken  off  him. 

"  What  ye  got  ?  "  he  asked. 

There  was  no  round-aboutness  with  the  boy,  nor  any 
uncomfortable  self-consciousness. 

"  Would  milk  toast  do  ?  " 

•    "  Baby  mess,"  he  said  frankly,  but  added  generously, 
"  You  can  have  it  if  you  want  to." 

"  I  don't,  Joe." 

"  I'm  hungrier  '11  two  cubs,"  he  said ;  "  les'  have 
some  thin'  fillin'." 

"  Cold  chicken  pie  and  potatoes  roasted  in  the 
ashes  ?  " 

"That's  good  —  far's  they  go,"  Joe  said,  looking 
thoughtfully  into  the  fire. 

"  Hot  buckwheat  cakes  and  maple  syrup  ?  " 

"Jolly!     What  next?" 

"  Crullers  and  raspberry  jelly,  and  a  little  piece  of 
mince-pie  to  make  us  dream  ?  " 

"I  guess  so,"  said  Joe.  with  his  mouth  watering. 


26  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

"  And  after  supper  I  wonder  if  you  couldn't  crack 
some  walnuts  for —  what  do  you  guess?  " 

"  Dunno." 

"  Ever  make  candy  at  your  house  ?  " 

Joe  shook  his  head.     "  Don't  know  how." 

"  But  I  do." 

So  while  I  washed  the  supper  dishes,  after  Joe  had 
eaten  all  that  is  possible  for  a  boy,  he  cracked  the  nuts, 
and  we  picked  out  the  meats  together,  and  then  made 
molasses  candy  in  a  spider  over  the  kitchen  coals.  We 
both  watched  it,  but  Cattery  was  distracting ;  and  with 
all  our  cold  iron  spoons  at  hand,  it  would  rise  now  and 
then  like  lava  from  an  active  volcano,  and  pop  its  bub- 
bles at  us  in  an  alarming  way. 

At  last  it  was  done,  poured  foaming  into  an  earthen 
bowl,  covered,  and  set  ont  in  the  snow  to  cool.  Cattery 
had  to  be  banished  to  the  woodshed  to  keep  her  prying 
paws  from  being  scorched.  Joe  was  sure  she  couldn't 
push  the  cover  off,  but  experience  had  taught  me  wis- 
dom. She  was  a  cat  of  infinite  resources.  At  last  the 
bowl  sank  to  its  edge  in  the  snow,  and  I  braved  the 
whirling  storm  again  to  bring  it  in.  There  was  a  great 
clatter  of  unlatched  doors,  for  the  storm  was  at  its 
height.  I  made  a  tempting  basin  of  warm  soapsuds, 
under  the  impression  that  boys,  like  cats,  avoid  water 
by  instinct ;  and  Joe  was  caught  in  the  snare  and 
scrubbed  manfully,  leaving  only  a  little  dark  scallop 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  27 

around  his  thumbs,  which  didn't  matter.  I  expected 
him  to  eat  most  of  the  candy.  Then  we  buttered  our 
hands  well,  and  took  up  the  mass  which  was  still  hot  in 
the  middle  after  the  nuts  had  been  stirred  in.  Just  as 
we  had  it  well  stretched,  and  were  folding  it  for  a  sec- 
ond pull,  with  the  light  making  silvery  streaks  on  it, 
Joe  cried,  — 

"  There's  that  cat  in  again,  with  her  head  in  the 
bowl ! " 

•'Never  mind,"  I  said;  "she  can't  eat  it,  and  it  isn't 
hot  enough  to  burn  her  nose." 

u  But  now  she's  licking  the  butter,"  said  Joe,  who 
faced  the  table. 

She  had  caught  us  both  in  a  trap.  I  backed  up  and 
reached  the  table,  pulling  Joe  after  me,  and  elbowed 
the  creature  off.  She  pushed  as  hard  as  if  she  had  been 
a  good-sized  boy,  and  was  back  again,  ready  for  another 
spring,  before  I  could  tip  over  the  chair  she  stood  on. 
But  Joe  had  a  practised  foot,  being  a  boy,  though  a 
small  one,  and  she  recognized  a  masculine  element  un- 
usual to  the  house,  and  skulked  behind  the  wood-basket. 

"  Come  on,"  shouted  Joe  ;  "  it's  empty,  and  I'll  catch 
her  in  it !  " 

So,  hampered  as  we  were  by  the  sticky  stuff  pulling 
at  the  ends  of  our  fingers,  we  made  a  sortie  and  Joe 
actually  kicked  the  bushel  basket  over  her.  For  the 
first  time  in  my  experience  Cattery  was  entrapped. 


28  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

Her  yellow  tail  waved  angry  defiance  under  the  rim 
of  the  basket,  which  did  not  lie  close  to  the  floor  on 
account  of  its  handles,  and  her  searching  paws  appeared 
on  all  sides,  to  Joe's  great  glee.  Not  until  the  candy 
was  drawn  and  out  off  in  fancy  twists  did  he  release 
her.  But  as  usual  her  anger  did  not  burn.  She  for- 
gave us  at  once,  and  jumped  for  my  lap  as  soon  as  I  sat 
down,  and  there  was  no  peace  until  the  wood-room  door 
was  firmly  latched  between  us  and  her. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  29 


V 


WE  took  our  candy  into  the  sitting- 
room,  and  drew  up  our  chairs  before  the 
fire  which  curled  over  the  white  birch 
Mogs,  while  the  storm  whistled  and  roared, 
and  the  snow  fell  down  the  chimney  and  hissed  as  it 
turned  into  steam.  Joe  spoke  up  suddenly. 

k*  What's  the  matter  o'  that  Timloe  feller?  Don't  he 
never  come  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,"  I  said ;  "  he  comes  and  reads  his  Latin  to 
me.  He  studies  with  Mr.  Craig,  you  know.'' 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  Joe  said,  and  added  after  a  moment, 
"  I  wish  I  knew  about  Latin." 

"  I'll  teach  you,"  I  said. 

"  You !  "  Joe's  eyes  were  round,  and  so  was  his  mouth. 
"I  didn't  know's  old  maids  could  talk  Latin." 

"  It's  true,  Joe,  that  I  don't  say  Kizer  and  Kickero 
like  Timmy ;  but  I  know  the  old-fashioned  kind,  and  if 
you  want  to  learn  we'll  get  him  to  come  in  and  tell  us 
the  new  fashion." 

'•  Bully  for  you  !  "  said  Joe  encouragingly.  *'  But  I 
didn't  s'pose  "- 

"  Now,   Joey,  don't  call  me  an   old   maid   again.     I 


80  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

used  to  be  as  young  as  anybody  —  as  young  as  you 
are." 

-Really?''  asked  Joe  \vith  interest  and  a  frank  dis- 
regard of  my  possible  feelings.  And  then  his  mind 
wandered  to  the  ••  Timloe  feller''  again,  and  I  had  to 
explain  that  his  name  was  really  Timloe  Brock,  and 
that  his  mother  had  been  a  little  girl  when  I  was,  and 
my  very  best  friend.  I  said  that  all  the  other  children 
had  died  years  ago.  that  Timmy  did  not  remember  his 
mother,  and  that  he  came  to  live  with  his  grandfather 
when  Mr.  Brock  married  again. 

"  But  what  ails  him?"  Joe  urged.  "  He  don't  never 
have  any  fun  like  other  fellers.  We  all  love  to  get  a 
clip  at  *im  with  a  snowball,  to  see  'im  dodge.  Why 
don't  lie  go  to  school  ?  No  fun  in  bein'  head  all  the 
time.  Fun's  in  spellin'  down  a  whole  row." 

How  could  I  tell  the  child  that  poor  Timmy's  life 
was  nothing  but  a  little  pinched  page  of  minus  signs : 
that  lie  had  to  pay  pitiless  tithes  of  mint,  anise,  and 
cummin  all  his  melancholy  days ;  that  it  was  always, 
"  Come  in  or  you'll  get  hit ;"  k«  Don't  go  near  the  water 
and  then  you  won't  get  drowned  ; "  "  Boys  that  skate 
almost  always  get  in.  and  we  don't  want  a  funeral 
here ;  "  "  Don't  ever  try  to  pull  anybody  out,  you'd  get 
in  yourself ;  "  "  Keep  clear  away ; "  u  Don't  say  a  word 
when  boys  shout  at  you  ;  "  "  Don't  climb  trees  and  tear 
your  clothes."  Yet  with  all  this  hen-care,  I  doubt  if  he 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  31 

ever  got  any  real  wing-brooding.  The  good  old  grand- 
father used  to  stroke  his  hair  and  teach  him  Bible 
verses,  but  never  got  so  far  as  "  He  that  saveth  his  life 
shall  lose  it." 

Joe  was  looking  straight  through  the  fire  into  some 
dreamland  beyond.  I  had  been  as  far  away.  Then  we 
both  came  back  to  our  candy,  and  I  said,  — 

•'  Joe,  I  wouldn't  snowball  him  if  I  were  you  ;  he's  a 
lonesome  little  fellow.  What  if  you  had  to  catch  a  live 
mosquito  in  summer-time,  and  take  it  up  to  your  room 
for  company  —  to  sing  to  you  nights  ?  " 

"  He  didn't  do  that !  "  Joe  said  with  incredulity. 

"  He  told  me  he  did,  and  I  believe  him.  Maybe 
you'll  be  in  college  together,  in  the  same  class  ;  who 
knows  ?  and  I  shall  want  you  to  be  good  friends  so 
that  I  can  be  proud  when  you  both  graduate.  For  I 
couldn't  go  twice  at  my  age.  I  shall  be  an  old  woman 
then." 

"  Jiminy  !  "  said  Joe.  "  College  !  "  and  then  he 
whistled. 

No  doubt  Paradise  seemed  as  far  off  to  him,  and  as 
unattainable  in  his  mortal  state.  Now  I  was  very 
anxious  to  have  Joe  go  to  college.  It  would  mean 
more  to  me  than  he  could  ever  know.  If  that  baby 
should  be  left  at  my  door  it  would  go  to  college.  I 
said  nothing  more.  Sometimes  I  have  noticed  if  you 
put  a  seed  into  good  ground  and  let  it  alone,  it  gets  a 


32  A    SPIXSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

start  before  you  know  it ;  but  if  you  potter  around  it,  it 
gets  discouraged  and  dies  without  coining  to  anything. 

When  it  was  bedtime.  I  sent  Joe  up  into  the  north 
garret  for  the  warming-pan,  and  while  he  was  undress- 
ing by  the  tire  I  had  it  tilled  with  coals,  and  the  chill 
taken  off  his  bed. 

••  Oh,  how  hot  it  does  feel !  "  he  sighed  contentedly, 
cuddling  down  and  looking  around  the  room.  "  Whose 
room  is  this  ?  " 

"  My  little  boy's." 

k>  You  haven't  got  any  little  bov."' 

"  You're  mine  to-night." 

"Oh-li!  I  thought  you  was  jokin".  Whose  rockin'- 
chair's  that?" 

"  Mine,  when  I  was  a  little  girl.  That  will  be  my 
boy's  too." 

"That  desk  too?" 

-  Yes." 

"  I  know  you've  got  rag  babies  somewheres." 

"  Yes ;  want  one  to  sleep  witli  you  ?  " 

"Gracious,  no !  I'm  too  big.  Last  year  I  was  littler," 
he  said  after  some  truthful  thinking.  "  When  I've  said 
my  prayers,  don't  you  wan'  to  stay  an'  talk  with  me  ? 
I'll  cover  you  all  up  jest  as  I  do  Aunt  Marty,  so's  you 
won't  l>e  cold." 

I  said  I  would  stay,  though  we  had  most  of  our  talk 
out  down-stairs. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  33 

"  Now  I'll  say  'em,"  he  said,  and  moved  to  get  up. 

•'Can't  you  kneel  in  my  lap?  It's  so  cold,"  I 
added  doubtfully,  for  I  didn't  know  anything  about 
boys. 

"•  Yes,  I  s'pose  so;"  and  two  strong  little  arms  went 
around  my  neck. 

This  was  Joe's  prayer,  the  first  sentence  in  a  whisper : 

"God  bless  my  dear  up  in  heaven,  and  Pa,  arid 
Aunt  Marty,  and  all  the  folks  in  this  house,  and  — 
everything,  and  please  make  it  snow  all  night  and  all 
to-morrow,  for  Jesus'  sake.  Amen." 

"  What  did  you  mean  by  '  everything  '  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  I  meant  Kitzy,  an'  the  old  cat  too,  'cause  she  needs 
it,  and  'cause  she's  Kitzy's  mother ;  but  I  didn't  know 
'twas  right  to  say  it.  I  guess  God'll  understand,  don't 


"  Yes,"  I  said ;  "  He  always  understands." 

"  Do  you  s'pose  it'll  snow  to-morrow  ?  If  I  owned 
the  sky,  I'd  send  down  snow  every  day." 

"  Why  do  you  want  it  to  snow  all  to-morrow  ?  We 
should  be  shut  up  here  like  mice  in  a  trap." 

"  I  know  it ;  but  'twould  be  such  fun  to  stay  here  all 
day." 

"  So  it  would,  Joe,  for  me  ;  but  how  about  school  ?"' 

"  Oh,  teacher  wouldn't  mind.  She's  got  a  lot  of  big 
boys,  and  they'd  shovel  paths." 

"  But  how  should  I  get  to  my  well  ?  " 


34  A    SPIXHTKR'S  LEAFLETS 

Joe  winked  and  thought.  He  had  long  eyelashes, 
and  they  twinkled  fast  with  his  thinking. 

-Tell  y'  what,  we'll  shovel,  both  of  us  if  it's  real 
deep.  You  don't  mind  do  you  ?  I'll  push  the  shovel 
in.  an'  you  can  lift  it  up.  Goiu"  now?  " 

••  Yes:  it's  my  bedtime  too." 

••  Ain't  you  goin'  to  kneel  down  'side  the  bed?  Aunt 
Marty  does." 

There  was  no  denying  Joe. 

••  Why  didn't  you  say  it  out  loud?  Didn't  you  want 
anything?" 

'•  Next  time.''  I  said  with  guilty  evasion,  and  gave  a 
final  tuck  to  the  blankets. 

'•  Why,  you  forgot  to  kiss  me  !  "  lie  said,  rising  on 
one  elbow  in  surprise.  "  You  haven't  got  a  bit  good 
remembery,  have  you  ?  " 

It  was  a  bitter  cold  morning,  and  snow  fell  at  inter- 
vals. Before  I  had  started  my  kitchen  fire  Joe  called, 
so  I  touched  a  match  to  the  pine  kindlings  and  hurried 
uj)-stiiirs,  fearing  lie  might  be  ill.  But  before  I  reached 
the  top  he  shouted  again.  "  Oh,  quick,  quick  !  hurry  up 
an'  see  all  these  fat  alligators !  " 

A  shivering  little  barefoot  figure  stood  by  the  win- 
dow, and  just  outside  the  great  Norway  spruce  held 
loads  of  damp  snow,  each  branch  with  a  broad  white 
Iwtek  and  funny  green  feet  crawling  back  and  forth  in 
the  bree/e- 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  35 

"  Scamper  to  bed,"  I  said,  "  and  you  shall  have  a 
little  fire  of  your  own  to  dress  by." 

So  Joe  scampered  with  his  teeth  chattering,  and  I 
lighted  the  wood  that  is  always  laid  in  Doorstep-Philip's 
small  fireplace,  and  brought  up  a  pitcher  of  hot  water, 
as  if  Joe  had  trul}r  been  Philip,  my  King,  and  I  his 
handmaiden  to  command. 

The  storm  was  a  memorable  one,  and  we  were  snow- 
bound. Joe  had  a  glorious  time  in  the  garret,  setting 
traps,  rummaging  barrels  and  boxes,  rocking  Kittery  in 
the  wooden  cradle  where  I  spent  so  many  seasick  hours 
in  helpless  infancy ;  whirring  the  spinning-wheel,  buzz- 
ing the  reel,  rolling  cheese  hoops  down-stairs,  till  Cat- 
tery of  her  own  accord  took  refuge  in  the  wood-house. 
He  came  down  to  dinner,  grimy  and  happy,  with  his 
hair  on  end. 

"  I've  brushed  and  brushed,"  he  said,  "  and  smoothed 
it  with  my  hands,  but  I  can't  make  head  nor  tail  of  it. 
The  more  I  brush  the  more  it  won't  lie  down.  Aunt 
Marty  says  it's  all  full  of  something  like  —  like 
lightning." 

After  dinner  we  had  quiet  little  games,  Nine-Men- 
Morris,  and  Fox-and-Geese,  played  with  corn  kernels  on 
the  bootjack,  where  my  father  made  a  diagram  for  the 
chase  when  I  was  a  child. 

About  three  o'clock  the  snow  stopped  falling,  and 
Deacon  Thaddeus,  with  a  face  as  beamy  as  the  rising 


36  A    SPISiiTEK'ti   LEAFLETS 

sun's  own  in  my  kitchen  almanac,  came  over  in  top- 
l>oots  to  shovel  me  out  and  take  my  boy  home.  As  the 
little  fellow  sat  astride  his  father's  broad  shoulders 
when  my  paths  were  dug,  I  looked  after  him  with 
regret,  and  spoke  unadvisedly  with  my  lips  concerning 
the  joy  it  would  be  to  keep  him  always. 

••And  so  you  might."  said  the  Deacon  cheerfully, 
••  so  you  might ;  but  there's  conditions,  you  know. 
Mebby  you  never  heard  o'  the  woman  that  asked  the 
l>est-lookin'  one  o*  the  Siamese  twins  to  stay  to  dinner 
one  time." 

I  said  the  story  was  new  to  me. 

"  Oil,  'tain't  much  of  a  story."  said  the  Deacon  with 
a  twinkle ;  "  but  she  had  to  put  on  two  extry  plates." 

Yet  even  then  I  suspect  the  half-wife's  sister  had 
l>een  spoken  to,  for  they  were  married  when  the  daf- 
fodils came  out  in  the  spring.  I  sent  them  a  great 
pitcherful. 

Joe  will  never  be  my  boy.  Perhaps  there  is  still  a 
doorstep  baby  in  reserve  for  me.  But  how  could  I, 
who  know  so  little  how  to  order  my  own  life,  think  of 
directing  that  of  any  human  being?  Poor  thing!  I 
thought  of  what  Joe  called  me,  when  I  said  I  never  had 
a  little  boy.  "  But  p'raps  you  will  up  in  heaven  — 
\toor  thing  !  "  Mother-nurture  may  grow,  like  mother- 
love.  But  I  cannot  reason  about  it.  If  it  is  to  1>< -.  I 
shall  find  a  way.  It  might  not  l)e  a  bad  plan  to  watch 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  37 

the  development  of  a  little  life  as  I  watch  the  growth 
of  my  plants.  If  they  have  plenty  of  sunshine  and  pure 
air,  they  do  well.  And  any  one  who  watches  them 
can't  help  keeping  bugs  and  beasts  at  a  distance.  Even 
a  few  weeds  may  grow  up  along  with  them  without 
harm.  I  think  sometimes  they  shade  them  from  too 
hot  sunshine  and  keep  them  from  wilting. 

Perhaps  mothers  bend,  and  straighten,  and  snip  off 
too  much,  and  pull  up  weeds  so  fast  and  so  jerkily  that 
the  roots  are  disturbed  and  discouraged.  There  may  be 
a  parable  from  nature  here,  that  even  an  old  maid  can 
comprehend.  I  should  try  to  be  a  far-sighted  mother, 
and  look  away  over  and  beyond  some  things  that  I 
couldn't  help  nor  hinder,  to  the  greater  things  that  go 
to  make  a  man.  Near-sighted  views  may  be  correct  in 
detail,  but  are  apt  to  be  pinched. 

My  Philip  shall  be  good  because  he  loves  goodness, 
not  because  he  hates  evil.  His  life  shall  be  filled  so 
full  that  there  shall  be  no  room  for  badness.  When  a 
tramp  at  my  well  overflows  the  cup  with  pure  spring 
water,  there  is  no  room  on  top  for  whiskey.  There  are 
plenty  of  people  who  use  evil  as  a  scarecrow,  and 
always  keep  it  in  sight  for  moral  purposes.  They 
believe  in  the  lash  at  the  start,  not  the  laurel  at  the 
goal.  I  want  my  boy  to  believe  wholly  in  heaven,  and 
waste  very  little  time  thinking  about  hell. 

When  my  Knight  Philip  starts  for  the  Holy  Grail,  he 


38  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

shall  not  be  dropped  into  a  sewer  first,  to  find  out  about 
the  world.  It  shall  be  high  and  deep  to  him,  if  not 
broad.  A  joke  and  a  world  may  be  too  broad.  Longi- 
tude is  every  bit  as  true  as  latitude,  and  the  path  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  worth  as  much  study  as  the  lives  of 
the  demi-monde  in  fitting  a  soul  for  its  place  in  this 
world  even. 


A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 


39 


VI 


SQUIRE  VANN  came  of  Scotch  ances- 
try on  the  mother's  side.  His  Highland 
forbears  were  born  without  pockets, 
those  inducers  of  civilization  in  man, 
and  the  Squire  himself  was  by  he- 
redity the  sworn  enemy  of  that 
social  amenity,  the  pocket-handker- 
chief.  Neither 
handkerchiefs  nor 
tooth-brushes  were 
classed  as  staple  ar- 
ticles on  his  shop- 
ping-list, and  the  boys  emulated  his  example  with  a 
zeal  which  did  not  extend  to  his  moral  qualities. 
These  were  perhaps  more  showy  than  abundant,  but 
what  they  lacked  in  number  was  made  up  in  strength. 
To  be  sure  they  had  been  kept  in  abeyance  in  youth, 
but  none  the  less  he  expected  his  children  to  put  in 
practice  his  theories  at  an  early  age,  and  was  both 
surprised  and  furious  when  they  failed  to  do  so.  The 
pranks  he  had  joyfully  played  in  his  youth  were  still 
as  sweet  morsels  to  his  tongue ;  but  when  the  boys 


40  A    SP IX STEM'S  LEAFLETS 

unwisely  attempted  to  repeat  his  successes,  he  took 
them  one  by  one  to  the  barn,  while  their  soft-hearted 
mother  wept  behind  the  window-curtain. 

Square  Vann.  as  his  compeers  called  him.  prided  him- 
self upon  his  freedom  of  speech  ;  but  his  wife  looked 
as  if  a  modest  slavery  in  that  respect  would  be  more 
acceptable  at  home,  especially  in  the  presence  of  others. 
If  he  thought  his  boys  in  the  wrong,  he  kicked  them 
frankly  before  any  one  —  parson,  deacon,  or  lay-mem- 
ber—  with  the  promptness  of  Sparrowgrass's  man  who 
pulled  trigger  tirst  and  made  inquiries  afterwards.  If 
the  boys  could  prove  that  they  were  innocent  of  offence, 
the  Squire  would  say  cheerfully,  "Credit  you  one  then. 
Remind  me  of  it  next  time."  But  there  was  scant 
time  for  reminder  when  the  Squire's  wrath  was  hot. 
His  foot  was  heavy  and  his  memory  short,  so  it  was 
long  credit  and  no  balance  ever  struck. 

The  house,  large  and  pretending,  somewhat  overbear- 
ing in  fact,  like  its  owner,  was  fine  witli  velvet  carpets 
and  glowing  upholstery  the  cost  of  which  the  whole 
town  knew  to  a  penny.  It  was  a  doubtful  pleasure  to 
be  asked  to  take  tea  with  Mrs.  Square  Vann,  as  the 
neighbors  respectfully  called  her,  for  something  always 
went  wrong.  The  Head  was  never  ready  to  take  his 
place,  but  would  look  inside  the  door  when  the  visitors 
were  seated  to  suggest  that  we  go  ahead  with  the  gim- 
cracks  while  he  helped  himself  to  cold  pot-luck  in  the 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  41 

butter v.  If  he  came  in  coatless,  slamming  doors  and 
still  ruminating,  in  the  middle  of  the  meal,  it  was  only 
to  fill  even* body  with  unrest  and  his  wife  with  appre- 
hension. If  ever  a  woman's  chair  was  cushioned  with 
thorns,  she  was  that  woman.  If  it  was  summer-time, 
his  grievance  might  be  that  the  cat  had  been  in  the 
cream,  and  probably  tasted  of  everything  else  —  a  fact 
or  even  fiction  that  was  malappetizing  to  guest  and 
hostess.  If  in  winter,  somebody  had  left  some  door 
open  and  frozen  something  ;  and  poor  Mrs.  Vann 
colored,  and  looked  miserable  when  he  asked  gruffly, 
"•  Where's  them  boys  ?  " 

A  spinster  has  the  advantage  over  a  Squire's  wife 
even,  at  times. 

Adam  Vann's  manners  were  original,  and  drawn  from 
his  every-day  habit  of  mind.  If  one  sinner  destroyeth 
much  good,  it  is  equally  true  that  one  perverse  good 
man  can  sow  the  seeds  of  generations  of  unpleasant- 
ness, whose  name  in  capitals  is  Disgust.  If  I  had  boys 
that  said  "  Father  does,"  when  I  reproved  them  for  boor- 
ishness,  I  am  sure  I  should  reply,  with  small  regard 
for  immediate  consequences,  that  that  was  because  his 
mother  didn't  kill  him  when  he  was  little.  One  must 
have  mercy  on  future  wives,  as  well  as  loyalty  to  pres- 
ent husbands  and  past  mothers. 

The  Squire  had  a  tolerably  kind  heart  when  there 
was  special  occasion  to  call  its  faculties  into  use ;  but 


42  -I    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

his  sympathies  were  not  broad  nor  his  griefs  deep. 
When  he  caught  the  boys  quarrelling,  which  is  a  mild 
word  for  their  fracases,  he  whipped  them  both,  soundly 
and  impartially,  and  forbade  them  to  go  whining  to 
their  mother,  who  loved  them  at  such  times  not  wisely, 
but  too  well. 

One  day  in  the  early  spring,  he  sent  the  youngest  to 
school  when  the  child  was  shaking  with  the  chill  that 
precedes  scarlet-fever,  and  blamed  his  mother  openly  for 
coddling  him ;  but  he  sat  up  with  him  night  after  night 
until  the  danger  was  over,  when  he  realized  his  mistake. 
The  neighbors  tired  in  time  of  the  oft-told  tale  of  his 
sleepless  nights.  It  never  occurred  to  him  to  worry 
over  the  fact  that  my  Joe  nearly  died  of  the  same  fever, 
or  that  the  school  was  broken  up  for  weeks  because 
Mrs.  Vann  was  not  allowed  to  use  her  own  judgment. 

He  never  failed  to  go  to  church  twice  on  Sundays, 
nor  to  pay  liberally  for  the  preaching,  Avhich  he  said 
cost  more  than  it  come  to  ;  but  he  wondered  not  a  little 
why  his  boys  didn't  seem  to  enjoy  an  article  that  was  so 
expensive.  Sunday  illnesses  received  no  quarter  from 
him ;  and  after  the  victim  of  a  sudden  toothache  at 
l>ell-ringing  time  had  enjoyed  home  privileges  for  the 
morning,  it  was  no  fun  to  be  put  to  bed  and  fed  on 
water  gruel  while  the  family  feasted  on  fat  things. 

In  an  unwise  moment  I  had  once  suggested  the 
worth  of  education  to  boys ;  but  the  Squire  impressed 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  43 

upon  me  the  fact  that  he  didn't  want  no  algebray  nor 
Latin  talk  'round  his  place  to  scare  the  cattle.  United 
States  speech  was  what  he  made  his  money  by,  and 
what  was  good  enough  for  him  they'd  have  to  put 
up  with. 

It  was  of  no  use,  and  very  likely  the  boys  were  not 
worth  it ;  but  I  did  venture  to  say  that  I  had  often 
heard  him  calling  his  cows  in  Latin,  and  thought  the 
boys  had  the  same  habit.  He  looked  at  me  blankly, 
but  I  knew  he  was  not  capable  of  humiliating  himself 
so  far  as  to  seek  an  explanation  from  a  woman.  Indeed, 
it  seemed  to  give  me  a  certain  laughable  title  to  regard 
from  him.  Here  was  a  woman  who  had  dared  answer 
him  back. 

Often  as  I  sit  musing  before  my  fire,  I  arrange 
the  room  to  suit  my  Philip,  whose  tastes  will  be  new- 
fashioned.  I  fancy  a  real  Turkish  rug  in  place  of 
my  home-braided  one,  and  silken  pillows  on  the  wide 
old  lounge.  There  must  be  pretty  draperies  at  the 
windows  too,  and  perhaps  a  portiere  before  my  bed- 
room door.  My  books  I  must  add  to,  for  though  I 
get  many  new  ones  from  the  village  library,  one  must 
have  a  good  stock  of  old  friends  on  hand.  My  boy 
shall  not  be  ashamed  when  he  brings  home  his  college 
friends.  No  doubt  I  need  a  good  deal  of  brushing  up 
myself.  To  one  who  has  never  been  twenty-five  miles 


44  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

from  home,  the  world  seems  as  curious  and  unreliable 
as  when  it  was  flat,  and  stood  on  the  backs  of  tortoises ; 
and  kings  and  queens  as  unhuman  as  griffins.  One 
needs  to  travel  a  little  in  order  to  get  into  just  relations 
with  things  :  to  be  able,  for  instance,  to  think  of  royalty 
as  sometimes  caught  on  Monday  mornings  with  its 
crown  off  and  its  sceptre  behind  the  door,  and  there- 
fore subject  to  the  accidents  and  mortifications  of  our 
common  humanity. 

Therefore  my  boy  shall  travel.  He  shall  go  and 
come  as  he  pleases  to  and  from  his  home.  If  love 
for  me  doesn't  draw  him,  he  shall  stay  away.  He 
must  have  a  bank  account,  and  I  shall  not  ask  to 
see  his  book.  But  lie  will  tell  me  because  I  love 
him,  and  because  I  would  go  cold  and  hungry  to  give 
his  young  life  a  chance.  I  shall  surely  trust  him,  and 
if  he  prove  unworthy,  why,  so  much  the  worse  for  me. 

But  what  if  he  were  really  to  prove  a  prodigal,  and 
fond  of  husks?  I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  win  him  back 
in  time  with  turkey  and  plum  pudding  and  love.  It 
was  grand  Robert  Collyer  who  loved  to  say,  "  The  first 
man  is  of  the  earth,  earthy;  the  second  man  is  the  Lord 
from  heaven." 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


45 


VII 


ONE  morning  in  the  spring, 
soon  after  Joe  ceased  to  be 
motherless,  I  was  down  on 
my  knees  among  my  tulips, 
which  grow  in  a  bed  that 
reaches  from  the  wood-house  nearly  to  the  well,  when 
Squire  Vann's  hard  "  Hello  !  "  brought  me  to  my  feet. 
He  stood  in  the  roadway,  dangling  a  yellow  cat  by  the 
tail.  But  it  was  not  Kittery. 

"  Ketched  for  sure  in  my  rat-trap,"  he  called  hilari- 
ously across  the  fence.  "  Guess  she  used  to  be  your 
yaller  cat  before  she  left  for  parts  unknown,"  he  added 
wittily  ;  "  an'  if  you're  agreeable,  I'll  jest  heave  her  over 
the  stun  wall.  Help  make  grass  grow." 

I  nodded,  for  there  is  never  any  temptation  to  con- 
tinue conversation  with  Squire  Vann,  especially  at  such 
a  distance  ;  and  when  Joe  came  in  the  afternoon  —  for 
it  was  Saturday  and  a  half-holiday,  I  gave  him  a  dime 
to  find  Cattery  and  give  her  decent  burial  in  the  garden. 
He  rolled  the  poor  defeated  thing  carefully  in  a  news- 
paper, and  dug  a  grave  as  deep  as  he  could  with  my 
trowel.  It  was  his  plan  to  station  Kittery  at  his  side  as 


46  A    SPINSTER '8   LEAFLETS 

chief  mourner,  with  a  black  ribbon  around  her  neck  ; 
but  the  programme  failed  at  the  critical  moment,  as  Kit 
caught  sight  of  a  squirrel,  and  we  saw  her  no  more  for 
an  hour. 

After  the  grave  was  covered  and  a  few  flowers  laid 
on  it  —  Joe  chose  yellow  tulips  —  the  child  sat  down 
on  the  doorstep  with  his  chin  in  his  hand.  I  thought 
at  iirst  he  was  chief  mourner.  But  it  was  only  that 
'*  genius  burned  "  just  then,  and  he  was  devising  an 
epitaph. 

"  She  wasn't  much  of  a  cat,"  he  said  thoughtfully, 
"  but  she  was  a  mother.  First  thing  I  thought  I'd  get 
you  to  help  me  print  it  on  a  board,  and  we  could  call  it 
a  tombstone.  'Twouldn't  be  —  but  then  "  — 

•'  What  were  you  going  to  print,  Joe  ?  " 

Joe,  still  intent  on  the  future,  lined  out  slowly  :  — 

"  Here  lies 
That  cat, 
Killed  by 
A  rat 
Trap. 

"  But  I  don't  b'lieve  I'll  do  it,"  he  added.  "  Seems 
jest  's  if  Kitzy'd  know  it,  and  feel  bad." 

Life  seemed  less  intricate  with  Cattery  under  ground 
and  no  good  qualities  left  behind  her  in  memory.  And 
yet  I  sometimes  found  myself  wondering  if  I  hadn't 
been  too  ready  with  the  broom  —  the  only  argument 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  47 

she  ever  understood.  Memory  and  regret  are  twin 
sisters. 

It  began  to  rain  about  eight  o'clock,  so  I  laid  two 
sticks  together  and  drew  my  stand  of  books  before  the 
companionable  blaze.  In  a  previous  state  of  existence 
I  must  have  been  a  lire-worshipper. 

There  are  times  when  Victor  Hugo  and  Dickens 
torment  me  with  their  tales  of  horror.  This  was  one 
of  the  times  :  and  I  rose  and  turned  their  backs  to  the 
wall.  But  once  set  apart  in  this  way,  I  could  not  for  a 
moment  forget  them,  and  the  firelight  flashed  twice  as 
often  on  them  as  usual,  so  that  I  had  to  cross  the  room 
again  and  turn  them  back.  After  that  it  was  hard  to 
keep  my  mind  off  them.  So  I  thought  it  a  good  time 
for  a  little  visit  with  cheery  Howells,  who  brings  a  fresh 
breath  of  air  along  with  him.  I  laid  him  above 
Emerson  and  Lowell,  and  mused  awhile  over  the  open 
book.  A  fire  tempts  one  to  "  busy  idleness."  Some- 
times as  I  sit  looking  into  the  heart  of  it,  with  rain  or 
sleet  insisting  at  the  windows,  George  William  Curtis 
slips  into  the  easy-chair  opposite  my  low  rocker,  in- 
finitely wiser  and  handsomer  than  the  young  Apollo 
of  the  Potiphar  Papers,  and  lends  dignity  and  gracious- 
ness  to  the  chimney  corner.  And  presently  the  Farmer 
of  Edgewood  saunters  in  with  a  tolerant  smile  on  his 
patrician  face,  and  Whittier  rests  his  head  on  one  long, 
thin  hand,  and  watches  the  birch  wood  flame  silently. 


48  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

My  blue-eyed  Philip  leans  his  golden  head  against 
my  sombre  knee,  until  Tolstoi  shambles  in  with  Walt 
Whitman,  when  I  send  him  out  to  play  with  the  kitten. 
The  unkempt  Russian  does  not  see  me,  and  I  shrink 
away  from  the  tire  as  he  draws  nearer,  his  eyes  like 
dead  craters  where  awful  and  unlawful  fires  have  burnt 
themselves  out.  Whitman  looks  over  the  group,  pulls 
on  his  hat  hard,  and  shuts  the  door  decidedly,  as  he 
goes. 

It  opens  again,  and  Dr.  Holmes  comes  in.  His  face 
is  sunny  with  the  eternal  youth  of  his  soul ;  but  shall 
we  ever  again  see  "  the  light  that  in  his  eye  he  bore  " 
when  he  thought  out  his  immortal  Ode  to  Bryant  ? 

I  doubt  if  he  would  recognize  Tolstoi's  homoeopathic 
cure  for  life's  ills  —  fighting  vice  with  vice.  The 
Russian  says,  in  the  telling  words  of  a  wise  critic,  "  I 
am  your  brother,  therefore  I  will  go  down  into  the  mire 
with  you.  Christ  says,  '  I  am  -your  brother,  therefore 
come  up  higher  with  me.'  "  Tolstoi  fades  away  like  a 
burnt  cinder ;  and  as  he  passes  from  sight  I  remember 
one  little  scene  in  "Anna  Kare'nina,"  the  only  thing  I 
wish  to  remember  —  the  one  sacred  thing  in  the  book  to 
me,  when  the  mother,  after  months  of  desertion,  comes 
back  before  daybreak  to  look  once  more  at  her  boy,  and 
sees  how  long  his  little  legs  look  below  his  nightgown, 
as  he  springs  up  half  asleep  to  hug  and  kiss  her  and 
sol)  out  his  happiness.  This  alone  moves  me. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  49 

The  close,  heavy  air  grows  fresh  again  as  Howells 
appears  —  Howells,  whose  scalpel  cuts  clean  down  to 
the  conscience,  even  if  he  "keep  his  feet"  but  indif- 
ferently "  among  his  shalls  and  wills."  It  is  a  pity, 
though,  that  he  should  have  known  so  many  rudimen- 
tary women.  One  doesn't  mould  a  heroine  from  putty, 
nor  change  a  butterfly  into  an  eagle  by  any  process  of 
reasoning. 

The  women  of  the  western  hemisphere  owe  much  to 
the  Norman-Saxon  strain  of  blood  that  runs  deep,  but 
puts  duty  before  pleasure,  others  before  self.  That 
which  comes  of  Puritan  blood  is  not  a  colorless  life. 

The  scene  changes,  and  my  dreaming  takes  on  another 
phase.  My  thoughts  go  straying  down  the  spring  foot- 
paths of  the  past,  in  the  young  days  when  Rachel  Timloe 
was  my  best  and  only  friend.  The  apple-tree  where  we 
climbed  to  study  our  lessons  among  the  leaves,  the 
willow  where  we  swung  on  happy  Saturdays,  waved 
and  drooped  in  memory  till  I  could  hear  the  wind  in 
their  leaves,  and  the  sound  of  Rachel's  high-keyed 
voice  as  she  dared  me  to  swing  higher.  And  within 
call  of  this  very  house  was  her  child,  the  only  one  left 
of  six.  With  her  dying  breath  she  had  given  this  puny 
babe,  who  could  not  remember  his  mother's  face,  to  the 
care  of  two  old  people  who  knew  no  more  about  the 
nurture  of  a  child  than  if  he  had  been  a  new  Triptole- 
mus. 


50  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

He  was  not  an  engaging  boy,  but  I  pitied  him  with 
all  my  heart.  Only  two  weeks  before  he  had  played 
truant  and  fallen  into  the  river  in  a  vain  attempt  to 
catch  a  fish  and  enjoy  himself  after  the  manner  of 
secular  boys.  Of  course  Deacon  Thad,  everybody's 
guardian  angel,  was  crossing  the  bridge  to  his  up- 
meadow  at  the  time  —  always  Deacon  Thad  !  —  and  lie 
plunged  in,  boots,  coat,  and  all,  for  the  little  fellow  had 
gone  down  for  the  last  time.  He  carried  him  to  his 
own  house  in  his  arms,  and  then  sent  for  me.  "  Aunt 
Marty,"'  in  lilac  muslin  with  soft  lace  at  the  throat  and 
wrists,  was  calm  and  ready  as  usual,  and  had  hot 
blankets  to  wrap  him  in,  and  a  roaring  fire  on  the 
hearth.  The  sunshine  lay  in  a  yellow  square  on  the 
floor,  whose  clean-' whiteness  was  tracked  with  wet  boots 
and  puddly  with  dripping  garments.  In  a  very  little 
while  we  brought  him  to,  rubbed  him  red,  and  dressed 
him  in  Joe's  clothes,  while  I  took  upon  myself  the  task 
of  telling  the  family  that  he  wasn't  well,  and  that  I 
should  like  to  take  care  of  him  that  night. 

He  begged  that  I  wouldn't  tell  what  had  happened, 
and  I  promised  willingly  enough.  My  conscience  was 
clear,  for  it  was  not  I  who  had  tempted  him  to  disobe- 
dience, and  as  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Timloe  were  ailing, 
with  symptoms  of  influenza,  I  had  no  difficulty  in  keep- 
ing him. 

That    night   a    fever   set   in,    and    he   was   holding 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  51 

imaginary  conversations  with  his  grandmother  at  in- 
tervals all  through  the  night. 

"  Am  I  sorry  ?  No* in,  not  one  bit."  "  Ever  do  it 
again?  You  bet  I  will!"  "No,  it  doesn't  make  you 
feel  bad.  Not  half  so  bad  as  you  always  make  me 
feel."  "  A  pretty  sort  of  a  boy  I  am !  And  you  did 
it."  The  old  Adam  within  me  was  gratified  ;  for  I  was 
not  responsible  for  the  child's  conscience. 

Here  was  a  gentle  soul  unconsciously  at  bay  ;  and  we 
poor  human  creatures  don't  know  what  to  do  with  such. 
So  I  "  abandoned  him  to  Providence,"  and  dried  his 
wet  clothes.  It  would  be  an  easy  matter  to  make 
headstrong  little  Joe  see  the  right  and  wrong  in  such 
a  case  ;  but  he  had  been  developed  by  love,  and  so 
law  had  a  controlling  power  over  him.  Even  physical 
vision  comes  from  crossed  lines. 

And  yet  we  speak  of  a  "  boy  "  as  if  we  had  fully 
accounted  for  the  species. 

Tim  my  was  better  in  the  morning,  and  as  it  was 
Saturday  he  played  about  the  garden  and  woods,  and 
probably  went  to  the  river.  I  shall  never  inquire.  Mr. 
Timloe  grew  worse,  and  the  child  stayed  on,  so  the  fact 
of  his  truancy  did  not  appear. 

He  was  an  elfish  little  fellow.  After  school  he  would 
curl  up  on  the  lounge  and  read  his  heart  out.  Walter 
Scott,  Dickens,  Thackeray,  fairly  melted  away  before 
the  light  of  his  eyes.  When  supper  was  ready  he  came 


52  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

as  from  a  far  country.  —  like  Eve  from  Paradise,  his 
soul  still  with  his  books,  and  not  a  word  could  I  get 
from  him.  I  used  to  wonder  whether  he  thought  me 
capable  of  betraying  him,  or  whether  he  simply  never 
looked  off  his  books  long  enough  to  think  of  me  at  all. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


53 


VIII 

I  HAD  felt  for  some 
months  that  Squire  Vann 
was  a  little  "  near "  when 
he  bargained  for  my  last 
strip  of  salable  land  and 
got  it  at  his  own  valuation, 
and  the  impression  was 
strengthened  when,  three 
days  before  Thanksgiving, 
he  sent  me  a  fine,  large, 
green  goose.  But  it  is 
unneighborly  to  look 
even  a  gift  goose  in  the 
mouth,  so  I  accepted  it  with  proper  thanks  and  invited 
dinner  company. 

For  years  before  I  had  been  quite  alone.  There  was 
a  time  when  the  minister  said  grace  at  my  board  after 
the  church  service  on  Thanksgiving  Day ;  but  for  many 
years  Mrs.  Timloe  has  been  an  unwilling  guest  in  her 
own  house,  and  her  husband  could  not  leave  her  alone 
on  the  special  New  England  at-home  day  of  all  the 
year. 


54  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

Other  people  gathered  children  of  the  second  and 
third  generations  to  help  them  eat,  drink,  and  be  merry; 
and  though  invitations  to  go  abroad  in  the  neighborhood 
were  not  lacking,  I  knew  the  good  housewives  would 
not  be  offended  if  I  declined  with  thanks  to  "  make  a 
crowd  "  at  the  family  circle.  Some  go  out  into  the 
highways  and  hedges,  and  compel  people.  But  there 
are  no  poor  in  our  town.  So  instead  of  spending  on 
luxuries,  I  am  adding  to  my  bank  account.  Sometimes 
I  am  afraid  that  I  too  am  growing  4i  a  little  near "  in 
my  zeal  to  lay  up  for  Philip  the  loiterer. 

But  after  my  green  goose  came,  it  suddenly  occurred 
to  me  that  Deacon  Xoadiah  and  his  elderly  daughter 
Mercy  Jane  had  no  one  to  come  home  this  year.  Death 
had  been  looking  in  at  doors  and  windows  here  and 
there,  where  their  earthly  treasures  were,  until  this  year 
his  hands  were  empty.  It  was  a  real  joy  to  prepare  for 
the  feast  and  to  know  how  it  would  be  appreciated  by 
people  who  took  more  thought  for  the  morrow  than  for 
the  present  dny.  Mince,  pumpkin,  and  tart  pies,  cran- 
berry sauce,  and  Indian  pudding  kept  me  busy  and 
merry;  and  when  my  goose  was  beginning  to  brown 
beside  the  chicken-pie,  I  put  on  my  bonnet,  locked  my 
door,  and  started  for  the  "  meetin'  'us,"  as  the  old  folk 
styled  Mr.  Craig's  modern  church,  which  was  quite  a 
proud  edifice  for  South  Falls. 

As  a  loyal  descendant  of  the  Pilgrims,  it  was  a  duty 


A   SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS  55 

to  listen  to  the  long  sermon  and  join  in  the  singing  of 
psalms  and  hymns  and  spiritual  songs,  while  the  dinner, 
left  to  its  own  watch  and  ward,  did  as  well  as  most 
trusted  things  do.  A  modern  housekeeper  knows  none 
of  the  joys  of  an  old-fashioned  brick  oven  well  heated, 
which  holds  enough  to  last  a  good-sized  family  for  a 
week,  and  attends  to  its  own  business  in  a  leisurely, 
assured  way  that  could  not  be  hindered  nor  hurried  if 
all  the  political  systems  of  the  universe  should  collapse. 
Trust  a  boy  and  a  brick  oven,  and  you  have  my  word 
that  the  result  will  be  satisfactory. 

My  mind  was  at  rest  about  my  dinner,  and  the  table 
was  set.  I  had  decided  to  ask  the  Deacon  to  say  grace, 
but  to  do  my  own  carving,  as  the  choice  between  white 
and  dark  meat  would  not  be  clear  without  the  interven- 
tion of  the  trumpet,  which  would  seriously  interfere 
with  the  carvers  and  various  required  tools.  The  fire 
was  laid,  and  the  mug  of  cider  drawn  and  set  away  by 
the  cool  pantry-window.  So  we  jogged  slowly  home 
from  meetin',  Mercy  Jane  taking  her  father's  arm,  and 
nodding  vigorously  as  he  commented  on  several  p'ints 
in  the  sermon  which  he  thought  quite  good  for  a  man 
of  Parson  Craig's  tender  years. 

But  as  we  drew  near  the  house  which  stood  full  in 
the  clear,  cold  sunshine,  something  strange  caught  my 
eye  and  set  my  pulses  hammering  so  that  I  walked  like 
one  in  a  treadmill.  There  was  a  something  on  the 


56  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

doorstep,  and  it  had  the  form  of  a  basket.  A  basket 
with  the  cover  tied  down.  Mercy  Jane  looked  up  sud- 
denly and  saw  it  too.  She  had  just  dropped  her 
father's  arm  to  open  the  gate  for  him.  I  was  inhospit- 
ably behind  them,  urging  my  feet  to  do  their  duty. 

••  1  guess  Tamar's  girlses  fetched  home  your  washin' 
before  meetin',"  Mercy  Jane  said.  k*  They  was  late,  I 
noticed." 

How  I  blessed  Tamar's  girlses  ;  for  my  conscience 
was  in  a  flutter  as  well  as  my  pulses,  and  needed  time. 
Why,  oh  why,  did  I  invite  company  on  this  day  of  days 
—  my  own  supreme  Thanksgiving  Day !  For  it  was 
unmistakably  a  basket ;  a  basket  with  its  cover  tied 
down.  This  was  no  delusion,  no  false  alarm  of  some 
materializing  Cattery. 

I  pulled  out  my  key  at  the  top  of  my  stone  steps,  and 
turned  my  pocket  wrong  side  out.  Mercy  Jane,  who 
had  waited  for  me,  picked  up  my  handkerchief  which 
had  followed  my  purse. 

"  My  !  "  she  said,  "  you're  losing  all  your  things." 

She  waited  for  me  to  open  the  door.  What  if  she 
should  pick  up  the  basket  in  a  neighborly  zeal  to  be  of 
use?  My  heart  was  moved  out  of  its  place.  How 
should  I  account  for  that  basket?  It  was  none  of 
mine,  and  they  would  discover  the  fact.  Country  people 
have  sharp  eyes.  Besides,  my  washing  always  came 
home  on  Tuesday,  and  Mercy  Jane  would  remember  it. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  57 

In  dearth  of  general  news,  small  facts  are  made  to  do 
service  in  the  small  talk  of  families,  even  through  the 
medium  of  a  trumpet. 

I  opened  the  door  in  haste,  rattling  the  key  in  the 
lock. 

"  What  a  Thanksgivingey  smell !  "  said  Mercy  Jane 
appreciatively. 

4>  Got  something  good,  I  guess,"  said  the  Deacon, 
under  the  impression  that  he  had  opened  the  conver- 
sation. He  spoke  more  wisely  than  he  knew.  Yes, 
the  one,  real  prayed-for  good  of  my  life.  Oh,  for  one 
moment  of  aloneness  ! 

I  set  the  basket  behind  the  door,  listening  fearfully, 
and  made  haste  to  establish  the  Deacon  by  the  fire  which 
I  kindled  tremblingly,  and  to  take  Mercy  Jane  to  the 
bedroom  beyond,  where  she  could  lay  off  her  things. 
I  even  remembered  to  set  the  mug  of  cider  to  warm  on 
the  hearth  for  the  Deacon's  satisfaction.  I  went  down 
the  steps  into  the  kitchen  and  opened  the  oven-door  for 
purposes  of  deception,  and  let  out  a  delightful  odor  of 
green  goose.  Then  I  picked  up  my  basket  with  both 
hands,  and,  glancing  timidly  behind  me,  took  it  into  the 
wood-house  and  latched  the  door.  I  went  down  on  my 
knees  beside  it  and  tried  to  say  a  prayer,  but  my  chat- 
tering teeth  confused  me,  and  my  dry  lips  were  dumb. 
My  heart  was  going  like  a  windmill,  round  and  round. 

What  if  it  should  stop !     Would  they  dare  put  my 


58  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

baby — my  baby —  on  the  town?  1  knew  that  Mercy 
.Jane  had  her  things  nicely  folded  by  this  time  and  laid 
on  the  bed,  her  gloves  in  her  bonnet  and  her  front  hair 
put  up,  and  that  the  Deacon  would  be  drumming  on  the 
chair-arms  and  wondering  what  the  posset  kept  me  so 
long.  How  could  I  explain,  and  at  the  same  time  prove 
my  sanity?  How  could  1  walk  in  sensibly,  and  shout 
into  the  Deacon's  trumpet,  '•'I've  got  a  baby!"  It  was 
a  trumpet  that  often  gave  an  uncertain  sound,  and  the 
Deacon,  with  his  mind  on  mutton,  was  liable  to  answer, 
"  You  do,  do  ye  ?  Fore  quarter  or  rack  ?  " 

Heaven  knows  I  had  all  the  rack  I  could  stand.  It 
was  supreme  torture.  Why  wouldn't  those  people  go 
home?  How  dare  they  stay?  I  went  back  to  the 
kitchen  and  took  off  my  bonnet  and  cloak,  which  I  had 
kept  on  unconsciously.  Mercy  Jane  was  still  in  the 
bedroom,  taking  a  last  look  at  herself  in  my  divided 
glass.  Her  eyes  came  above  the  line  of  moulding,  for 
she  was  taller  than  I,  and  it  gave  a  sinister  expression 
to  her  face. 

"Land!"  she  exclaimed,  "you  haven't  got  your 
things  off  yet.  I  thought  I  heard  you  at  the  oven." 

"  Yes,"  I  said  guiltily,  "  I  just  looked  in  to  see  how 
things  were  doing.  If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  run  out 
now  and  get  the  dinner  on  the  table." 

"  Oh  let  me  help !  "  she  said  cordially.  "  Do.  I 
brought  my  apron  a-purpose." 


A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS  59 

'•  But  I  refused  with  the  best  grace  I  had  at  command, 
on  the  wicked  plea  that  she  might  get  something  on  her 
dress,  and  begged  that  she  would  entertain  her  father 
instead.  It  was  impossible  to  keep  this  up.  I  should 
go  mad.  All  the  hard  discipline  of  my  life  came  near 
going  for  nothing  in  those  strained  moments.  A  thought 
of  cats  flashed  over  me,  though  I  had  carefully  shut  the 
two  doors.  I  went  softly  to  the  wood-house,  making  no 
jar  to  attract  the  notice  of  my  silent  guests.  Yes,  a 
strange  cat  was  at  the  basket.  Her  claws  were  on  the 
reeds,  her  nose  at  the  cover.  It  might  have  been  Cat- 
tery's ghost.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  was  in  full 
sympathy  with  Cain,  the  murderer.  Doubtless  Abel 
was  always  hanging  around  in  a  maddening  way,  meekly 
prying  into  everything,  forestalling  him  in  all  his  plans. 
The  cat  went  out  through  the  window,  leaving  a  clatter 
of  broken  glass.  Besides  this,  there  was  not  a  sound. 
Was  the  child  asleep  ?  Was  it  drugged  ?  Was  it  dead  ? 
It  was  of  no  use.  I  must  have  witnesses.  It  would  be 
a  queer  story  to  come  out  afterwards,  and  to  be  dis- 
cussed at  the  corner  store  and  in  everybody's  kitchen, 
that  I  pretended  my  washing  had  come  home  on  Thanks- 
giving—  of  all  days  in  the  year !  and  it  was  a  baby  !  No, 
it  would  be  much  easier  to  carry  the  basket  in  and 
open  it  before  the  eyes  of  my  guests,  in  the  innocence 
of  my  heart,  than  to  walk  in  with  a  baby  in  my  arms, 
dead  or  alive,  and  try  to  explain  that  I  had  found  it ! 


60  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

My  song-,  like  Leigh  Hunt's,  should  be  a  song  of 
degrees. 

So  once  more  I  pieked  up  the  basket  and  carried  it 
to  the  sitting-room  lire,  which  was  burning  itself  out. 
I  had  forgotten  to  bring  in  more  wood.  The  Deacon 
and  his  daughter  stared. 

-  I  don't  know  what  it  is,"  I  said  humbly,  hating 
myself  for  deceiving  as  it  were,  the  very  elect ;  "  but 
we'll  soon  find  out." 

Mercy  Jane  was  kt  farse  "  to  help,  and  went  down  on 
her  knees  the  other  side  of  the  basket,  while  her  father 
wiped  his  dim  eyes  in  order  to  get  a  fair  sight  at  what- 
ever lay  concealed  beneath  the  cover. 

"Don't  cut  the  string;  it's  a  good  one,"  he  said. 

So  Mercy  Jane  slowly  untied  it,  for  her  fingers  were 
stiff  and  clumsy,  and  the  blood  was  not  racing  through 
her  veins  and  hurrying  up  her  faculties.  We  lifted  the 
lid  together.  A  fair  napkin  lay  under,  and  on  its  exact 
centre  a  gilt-edged  card  with  rounded  corners.  On  the 
card  was  written  in  a  small  hand :  "  Wishing  you  a 
Happy  Thanksgiving.  From  Mrs.  Esther  Vann." 

Mercy  Jane  calmly  folded  the  napkin  in  its  ironed 
prints,  and  disclosed  oranges,  bananas,  and  white  grapes, 
with  a  long  bottle  of  home-made  wine. 

A  sense  of  cruel  defeat  and  a  feeling  of  rising  anger 
at  being  so  desperately  cheated  stiffened  my  knees  and 
hardened  my  heart,  so  that  I  rose  steadily,  and  asked 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  61 

the  Deacon  in  pantomime  if  he  would  try  the  wine.  He 
shook  his  head  dolefully,  and  said  he  had  to  resist 
temptation  —  that  he  even  let  the  wine  pass  him  at 
Communion  seasons.  But  he  smiled  a  wide,  toothless 
smile  as  I  piled  the  fruit  high  011  a  Lafayette  plate,  and 
said  contentedly  that  the  earth  was  full  of  the  goodness 
of  the  Lord,  who  giveth  to  the  beast  his  food,  and  to  the 
young  ravens  which  cry ;  and  who  openeth  His  hand 
and  satisfyeth  the  desire  of  every  living  thing. 

I  put  the  basket  back  in  the  wood-room,  and  set  the 
wicked  bottle  behind  my  pantry  door.  But  there  were 
tears  in  mv  heart. 


A    SPIXSTEli'*   LEAFLETS 


JOK'S  new  mother  and  I  ex- 
changed flower-seeds  in  the 
sprim 


and    had 


about  thing's 
during  than 
nights  when 
watchedwith 
fast  recover- 
let-fever.  It 
llian  usual 


more 


flowers  in  the 
we    together 
Joe,  who  Avas 
ing  from  scar- 
was   later 
MfcK  when  I  plant- 
*••  ed  my  sweet 
peas,   and    she    came 
over   to  see    me   put 
them  down  the  length 
of   my    trowel,    with 
faith  that  they  could 
find    their   blind   way 
up  again. 

It's  a  burying  and  a  resurrection  that 
we  can  see,"  she  said.    "  I  like  it.     But  the 
other  may  be  grander." 

My  sweet  peas  run  riot  every  year.     They  cover 
the  old  picket  fence  ;  they  attack  the  cherry-trees ;  they 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  63 

hang  from  prickly  raspberry  vines ;  they  catch  at  weeds 
and  dead  twigs.  Everything  within  reach  they  glorify. 
Give  me  my  sweet-pea  Paradise,  and  Mrs.  Vann  is 
welcome  to  her  "  dahlia  Heaven."  Aunt  Marty  said 
flowers  needed  a  kind  of  worship  to  make  them  do  their 
best,  and  that  she  could  coax  more  blossoms  from  a 
stubborn  geranium  than  most  people.  But  she  loved 
the  sweet  things  with  souls  better:  mignonette,  helio- 
trope, violets.  '-They  are  like  love,"  she  added;  and 
then  I  understood  better  why  she  had  married. 

One  dav  when  we  were  quite  alone  and  well  on.  in 
our  confidential  talks,  she  said,  — 

••  Many  a  man  I've  seen  in  my  lifetime  that  I  could 
get  a  good  dinner  for  and  sit  down  at  table  with ;  but 
never  one  before  that  I  could  stand  day  after  day.  You 
know,  they're  apt  to  be  tiresome  —  the  best  of  them.  I 
know  all  his  queernesses,"  she  added;  ''but  when  a 
woman's  '  getting  along,'  as  Mrs.  Vann  says,  such  things 
don't  signify  as  they  do  to  a  young  girl.  Other  things 
go  deeper.  And  if  he'd  been  taught,"  she  continued  in 
a  lower  tone,  "  he  wouldn't  be  lacking  in  any  of  the 
little  things  we  women  like.  I  even  think  he'll  learn 
sometime  to  open  the  gate  for  me." 

She  laughed  softly  in  the  deeps  of  her  gingham  sun- 
bonnet,  and  I  put  out  my  hand,  but  she  was  in  obscurity 
and  didn't  see  it. 

'•  Just  you  let  well  enough  alone  !  "  I  said.     ';  What 


64  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

would  yon  have  ?  He  is  sui  yeneris,  and  if  you  try  to 
work  him  over  into  Lord  Chesterfield,  you  might  as 
well  have  married  John  Smith  and  done  with  it." 

'•Bless  yon  !  "  she  cried,  dropping  the  trowel  to  grip 
my  hand.  "  I  knew  well  enough  you'd  had  your  laugh 
over  him  years  ago." 

I  had  misjudged  her  when  I  thought  there  might  be 
little  sensitive  places  in  her  heart.  After  that  we  talked 
him  over  like  two  mothers  ;  and  the  more  we  laughed 
and  pulled  him  to  pieces,  the  more  we  found  to  love  and 
admire,  till  we  both  wiped  our  eyes  like  two  confidential 
school-girls  in  the  giggle  age,  and  went  on  to  compare 
notes  about  Joe.  It  seemed  a  good  time  to  .broach  the 
college  subject,  and  I  found,  as  I  thought  I  should,  a 
ready  aider  and  abettor  at  my  right  hand.  She  had 
been  thinking  of  the  same  thing,  and  meant  to  consult 
me  about  it  before  speaking  to  his  father,  who  would 
never  hesitate  to  do  anything  that  we  thought  best  for 
the  boy.  It  appeared  that  we  were  to  be  linked  with 
him,  she  and  I,  taking  our  one  boy  on  shares.  So  we 
planted  our  spring  hopes  with  our  sweet  peas,  and  in 
the  privacy  of  the  garden  I  dared  speak  of  1113-  one  hope 
which  really  budded,  like  my  monthly  rose-bush,  all 
through  the  year. 

She  pushed  back  her  sunbonnet  to  listen  better. 

"  But  don't  you  think,"  she  asked  meditatively,  after 
hearing  me  with  patience  through  my  several  episodes, 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  65 

"don't  you  think  that  your  boy  and  mine  ought 
to  he  of  an  age?  —  ought  to  go  to  college  together? 
Did  you  ever  think  of  going  to  the  asylum  to  choose 
one?  There  are  a  great  many  little  motherless  fellows 
there." 

-'  Goodness,  no  !  "  I  said,  greatly  disturbed,  and  sorry 
that  I  had  spoken  so  freely  to  any  but  babes  as  simple 
and  unpractical  as  myself.  "  I  could  never  be  mother 
then." 

"No,"  she  said  frankly,  "  nor  am  I  now.  Joe  has  his 
own  mother  in  heaven,  and  we  talk  about  her  every 
night.  There  never  could  be  but  one,  you  know,  and 
you  might  make  your  boy  know  what  mother-love  of 
the  heavenly  sort  is.  A  boy  who  has  a  mother  in 
heaven  isn't  apt  to  stray  very  far  away  from  her  on 
earth." 

I  was  answered.  I  who  had  cherished  my  own  ideal 
of  motherhood  for  years,  stood  rebuked  before  this  real 
mother  of  a  month  who  would  never  lay  claim  to  her 
title. 

Two  weeks  after  Thanksgiving  Mr.  Timloe  died,  and 
Tim  my  was  sent  for.  He  had  been  with  me  for  several 
days  on  account  of  his  grandfather's  severe  illness,  and 
I  wondered  how  I  could  best  break  the  heavy  tidings  to 
him.  He  expressed  no  regret  at  going,  no  sorrow  for 
his  loss.  But  at  the  door  he  turned  back  and  looked 
straight  into  my  eyes,  and  I  saw  the  real  boy  for  the 


(j«J  A    sl'iysTER'S   LEAFLETS 

lirst  time.  There  were  no  tears  there,  but  a  frightened 
look,  as  if  he  faced  something  I  could  not  see.  I  rose 
and  went  with  him. 

Mrs.  Timloe.  complaining  and  garrulous,  sat  in  her 
usual  corner  with  the  same  dead  odor  of  herbs  pervad- 
ing the  house.  It  was  a  hard  Providence,  she  said,  that 
left  her  helpless  and  alone  in  her  old  age.  She  ought 
to  have  been  taken  first.  Timmy  greeted  her  shyly,  but 
dutifully ;  there  was  no  love  in  her  heart  for  him  to 
respond  to. 

An  hour  later  I  went  into  the  chilly  front  room,  dark- 
ened as  is  our  New  England  custom,  where  lay  the 
good  pastor,  a  stern  figure,  and  majestic  even  in  death, 
with  an  old-time  linen  sheet  drawn  over  him  from  head 
to  foot.  It  was  one  that  Mrs.  Timloe  had  woven  for 
herself  in  the  days  Avhen  girls  were  shamed  if  they  went 
to  a  husband  without  a  chestful  of  linen  of  their  own 
weaving.  The}'  also  had  been  young  when  life  was  a 
mystery.  Of  the  two,  death  seemed  least  mysterious. 

For  a  moment  I  forgot  the  child  that  had  bound  them 
so  slightly  to  modern  life  with  but  one  link,  and  that  a 
broken  one  ;  but  as  I  moved,  my  foot  touched  some- 
thing. It  was  a  little  heap  of  ill-fitting  clothes,  with 
Timmy  somewhere  inside  them,  lying  face  downward. 
I  closed  the  door  softly,  and  was  glad  that  Mrs.  Timloe 
did  not  remember  to  ask  after  the  child,  though  she 
fretted  greatly  about  what  he  was  to  wear  at  the 
funeral. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  67 

The  winter  wore  away,  and  with  it  Mrs.  Tiraloe's  un- 
comfortable life,  and  in  the  spring  Timmy  was  left 
alone.  His  father  whom  he  did  not  remember,  came 
to  take  the  child  away,  to  pack  up  what  little  was 
worth  removing,  and  to  dispose  of  the  house.  He  had 
married  a  widow  with  four  children,  and  had  two 
young  boys  of  his  own.  Clearly  Timmy  would  not 
be  needed. 

It  all  came  over  me  in  one  blinding  flash,  and  I  had 
to  catch  my  breath  before  I  could  ask,  — 

"  Timmy  —  are  you  my  doorstep  baby  ?  " 

He  knew  very  well  what  I  meant,  for  I  had  told  both 
him  and  Joe  of  my  long-deferred  hope. 

He  looked  up  dazed,  from  "David  Copperfield :  " - 
"I  d'know." 

Then  he  read  on.  My  heart  sank ;  for  though  this  was 
not  the  Philip  of  my  dreams,  I  had  at  least  hoped  that 
there  was  something  motherly  about  me,  even  to  a  boy  of 
his  age.  How  bitterly  are  we  disappointed  in  ourselves 
when  we  catch  side  glimpses  of  our  ego  through  other's 
eyes !  It  makes  one  incredulous  of  a  welcome  in  the 
great  Hereafter.  He  read  on,  a  glossy  lock  of  coal-black 
hair  falling  over  his  forehead  as  he  bent  low  over  the 
book.  He  was  an  olive-and-pomegranate  boy,  with  eyes 
of  velvety  blackness.  I  stared  into  the  fire.  It  was  his 
last  night.  His  father  was  at  Deacon  Thad's  for  old- 
time's  sake,  and  faithful  Chloe  had  gone  to  live  with 


«58  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

her  daughter  a  mile  away.  I  thought  of  the  echoing 
old  house  where  ghosts  of  past  days  were  crowded  — 
the  gray  house  that  would  go  to  decay  with  a  smell  of 
boueset,  and  dead  air,  and  scorched  flannel. 

I  was  so  far  away  that  when  Tim  my  spoke  I  jumped, 
and  the  tongs  rattled  down.  He  was  still  looking  in- 
tently on  the  book. 

"  Would  you  let  me  go  to  school  like  the  others  ?  " 

"  Yes/' 

"And  learn  to  —  swim?" 

"  Yes." 

"And  to  skate?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  to  row  a  boat?  " 

"Of  course." 

"You  don't  mean  it!" 

"  Honor  bright !  " 

"I'll  come." 

Jacob  was  a  bargaining  creature,  I  remember,  away 
back  in  Genesis;  but  he  turned  out  better  than  one 
could  expect. 

"  I'll  come,"  Timmy  said,  and  threw  the  book  down 
with  a  bang.  It  was  the  sign  and  seal  of  acceptance : 
but  I  did  not  jump  this  time.  I  might  have  named 
other  things:  clothing,  and  Liberty  spelled  with  a  capi- 
tal. But  all  making  haste  must  be  done  slowly.  He 
was  yet  but  a  boy  in  embryo. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  69 

In  the  morning  the  legal  papers  were  made  out,  with 

but  slight  reluctance  on  the  father's  part. 

/ 
"  We  often  fail  by  searching  far  and  wide 

For  what  lies  close  at  hand." 
I  had  my  Doorstep  Baby  at  last. 


TO 


A   SPlXSTELi'S  LEAFLETS 


THERE  was  once  a 
woman  who  thought  she 
knew  a  good  deal  about 
children  because  she  had 
been  one  herself.  Her 
theoretical  ways  of 
bringing  them  up  would 
have  put  Solomon  to 
blush,  and  caused  havoc 
among  his  proverbs. 

Some  years  ago  I 
thought  I  had  said  my  last  word  about  Philip.  I  was 
a  young  woman  then  —  to  those  of  my  own  generation. 
Now  the  image  that  looks  out  at  me  from  the  glass 
is  never  what  I  expect  to  see.  The  world  looks  as 
young  and  beautiful  to  me  as  it  did  fifty  years  ago, 
but  I  do  not  look  the  same  to  it.  Where  the  years 
are  gone  is  a  mystery.  It  is  like  solid  ground  dropping 
from  under  one's  feet.  But  when  in  December  I  look 
out  on  my  old  crooked  apple-tree,  with  its  twisted, 
blackened  boughs,  I  know  that  it  holds  somewhere 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  71 

within  its  forbidding  bark  the  sure  promise  of  a  new 
life ;  so  I  take  courage. 

To  go  back  into  the  past,  when  I  took  Rachel  Tim- 
loe's  boy  as  my  very  own,  it  seemed  as  simple  as  the 
easiest  sums  in  addition.  I  had  only  to  make  a  home 
for  him,  to  feed  and  clothe  him,  and  set  his  feet  and 
face  in  the  right  direction.  I  remember  that  the  day 
I  adopted  Cattery  he  came  in  to  tell  me  she  was  walk- 
ing down  the  garden  fence,  and  he  had  turned  her 
around  for  fear  she  would  not  be  able  to  get  back. 
My  ideas  about  a  boy  were  nearly  as  primitive.  Given 
a  home,  and  somebody  to  care  for  him,  why  should  he 
not  go  on  making  the  best  sort  of  a  man  of  himself,  with 
an  occasional  turning  of  his  face  in  the  right  direction 
by  some  one  who  knew  certain  points  of  the  compass 
better  than  he  ?  So  I  began  in  company  with  the  Im- 
mortal Three,  all  heroic  figures,  with  Charity  at  least  a 
head  taller  than  the  others.  When  the  doorstep  baby 
that  had  filled  and  charmed  my  dreams  became  a  fixed 
fact,  the  world  was  brighter  to  me  than  it  ever  could 
have  been  to  Wordsworth's  much-quoted  boy ;  and  there 
was  little  danger  of  its  fading  away  into  any  prosy 
commonness. 

First  of  all,  like  a  new  Adam  fresh  from  the  tree  of 
life,  the  outward  man  had  to  be  clothed.  Nothing  in 
town  was  good  enough  for  the  straight  little  figure,  and 
to  the  scandal  of  the  entire  Vann  family,  all  the  curves 


72  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

and  angles  of  my  boy's  body  were  estimated  by  a  first- 
class  city  tailor,  and  written  down  in  a  book.  It  was 
the  proudest  Sunday  of  my  long  life  when  the  Clothes 
themselves  walked  into  church,  with  a  boy  inside  them 
who  opened  the  pew  door  for  me  —  the  proudest,  if  not 
the  serenest.  His  eyes  shone  and  Ids  cheeks  were  ruddy. 
Little  freckled  Joe  across  the  aisle  certainly  looked  a 
trifle  countrified,  but  wholly  unconscious  in  his  sincere 
admiration  of  Timmy. 

Those  were  great  days  !  The  sun  danced  at  his  ris- 
ing and  at  his  setting  as  well,  and  I  sang  the  Beati- 
tudes while  my  fire  went  out.  Perhaps  Timmy  did  not 
always  remember  to  fill  the  kettle  or  bring  in  wood,  and 
he  had  not  the  same  amount  of  zeal  in  making  snow 
paths  that  Joe  had  accustomed  me  to.  I  called  him 
several  times  in  the  morning,  and  occasionally  went  up- 
stairs to  make  sure  that  he  heard.  But  breakfast  would 
wait  as  well  as  not.  Was  not  my  very  life  his  ?  And 
what  did  a  late  breakfast  signify  ?  He  had  never  been 
waited  on  or  petted  in  all  his  little  life,  and  a  very 
slight  indulgence  isn't  bad  for  the  best  of  us. 

Most  people  would  have  preached  lost  time  and 
morning  hours  that  are  never  made  up.  It  would  have 
been  a  fine  text  for  Mrs.  Vann ;  but  I  never  invited  her 
to  "  sit  right  down  in  my  teacup,"  and  so  we  made  our 
own  laws  or  went  without  the  almanac,  just  as  we 
chose. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  73 

And  about  this  time  the  strangest  thing  happened ! 
I  am  almost  afraid  to  write  it  down,  on  the  principle 
that  one  should  not  even  speak  of  truths  which  sound 
improbable.  But  this  is  a  matter  of  moment,  and  it 
came  to  me  as  a  sign  from  heaven. 

Among  my  boy's  few  effects  was  a  box  that  remained 
unopened  for  weeks.  We  knew  it  to  be  a  box  of  books, 
but  were  engrossed  at  the  time  by  all-important  clothes, 
which  shortened  the  perspective  and  threw  other  things 
out  of  proportion. 

One  leisure  Saturday,  namely  a  stormy  one,  when 
wind  and  rain  came  whirling  down  together,  I  heard  a 
great  hammering  above,  and  went  up  to  see  what  this 
new  and  strange  sign  of  a  man  in  the  house  meant. 
Timmy  had  just  opened  his  box,  and  books  of  several 
sorts  littered  the  floor.  There  were  old  almanacs,  ge- 
ographies, a  dingy  Milton,  Pope's  "  Essay  on  Man,"  a 
swarm  of  tracts,  and  bundles  of  old  letters.  Were  they 
old  love  letters,  I  wondered.  Beyond  these  were  still 
other  books,  and  I  was  reaching  out  after  them,  when 
a  sudden  cessation  of  sound  stopped  my  hand.  Were 
you  ever  in  a  room  all  alone  when  the  clock  stopped 
ticking  ?  In  my  youth  I  was  watching  one  night  with 
a  friend  in  the  last  stages  of  consumption.  Toward 
morning  she  fell  asleep.  I  did  not  know  that  I  too  was 
asleep  till  a  sudden  silence  waked  me  like  a  blow.  The 
clock  had  stopped.  I  walked  guiltily  toward  the  bed 


74  A    SPiySTEK'S  LEAFLETS 

where   the  sick  woman   lay  with  one  hand  under  her 
cheek.     She  was  dead. 

Timmy  had  picked  up  his  mother's  Bible,  and  sat 
staring  at  the  written  record  of  marriages,  births,  and 
deaths  that  grows  slowly  between  Malachi  and  Matthew. 
As  I  stopped,  he  looked  up  at  me  as  he  did  the  day  his 
grandfather  died,  and  I  scattered  an  apronful  of  books 
and  hurried  to  him.  He  did  not  even  indicate  what  it 
was  that  had  hushed  his  very  breathing,  but  as  the  book 
sagged  on  his  knees  I  saw  written  in  letters  that  seemed 
to  burn  011  the  page, 

"Philip  Timloe  Brock. 
Born  Sept.  5.  18 — ." 

The  color  was  all  gone  from  the  boy's  face.  As  for 
me,  I  don't  know  what  I  did.  I  think  I  opened  the 
window  to  brush  out  a  buzzing  wasp,  and  then  took 
pity  on  its  bedraggled  state  and  let  it  in  again  to  dry 
its  wings  and  distract  me  with  butting  its  head  aim- 
lessly on  every  pane.  I  remember  a  cobweb  across  one 
corner  of  the  window  and  a  spider  tangling  the  legs  of 
a  fly  that  remonstrated  in  the  highest  possible  key. 

Timmy  shut  the  book  without  looking  up,  and  my 
vision  cleared.  "  It  was  all  planned  from  the  begin- 
ning!" I  said.  "Let  us  pray."  And  then  we  both 
burst  out  laughing  and  had  hard  work  to  find  our  way 
down-stairs.  But  there  was  a  sense  of  something  divine 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  75 

and  awful  —  a  new  Presence  in  my  house  that  has 
never  left  it  since.  I  shivered  as  I  went  to  rny  own 
room  to  be  alone  with  it. 

The  omission  of  the  boy's  first  name  was  nothing 
strange.  To  the  old  pastor  and  his  wife  it  probably 
meant  nothing,  and  they  in  their  otherwise  childless  age  . 
cared  only  to  send  their  own  name  down  the  possible 
future.  So  in  the  privacy  of  home,  when  we  sat  alone 
beside  the  fire,  I  said  "  Philip  "  softly,  feeling  my  way 
by  slow  degrees. 

But  when  Joe  made  one  of  the  party,  or  the  Deacon 
and  his  wife  and  Joe  three,  it  was  Timmy  as  of  old. 

That  winter  there  was  skating  on  the  pond,  and 
wherever  my  boy  went  Danger  followed  in  disguise  and 
plotted  against  his  life.  Philip  will  never  know  how 
often  I  sat  quaking  by  the  cold  garret  window  to  watch 
the  bobbing  heads  in  the  distance,  and  try  to  get  him 
in  focus  with  the  old  field-glass  that  was  my  father's. 
But  my  hand  was  shaky  with  cold,  or  something ; 
and  when  a  boy  went  down  the  whole  field  blurred. 
Neither  will  he  know  how  I  happened  to  be  close  by  the 
bridge,  with  a  shawl  over  my  head,  when  the  sudden 
thaw  came  and  he  and  Joe  went  down  together.  And 
to  this  day  I  cannot  tell  whether  I  caught  him  first  or 
whether  it  was  Joe,  and  Joe  clutched  his  arm.  I  only 
know  that  both  came  out  together  as  wet  and  quiet  as 
if  they  had  simply  taken  a  July  bath.  Even  I  did  not 


76  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

take  cold,  missing  my  woman's  privilege,  though  I 
trailed  a  soaking  gown  all  over  the  house  till  I  had  the 
bov  in  bed  with  onion  draughts  on  his  feet.  The  Deacon 
came  in  to  say  that  Joe  was  safe,  and  found  me  stirring 
the  fire  with  a  palm-leaf  fan. 

The  neighbors  always  contended  that  I  was  a  woman 
of  remarkable  presence  of  mind,  and  Mrs.  Vann  had 
once  gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  in  her  opinion  I  was 
strong-minded. 

The  sun  did  not  stay  his  course  for  my  boy.  From 
Mr.  Craig's  school  for  two,  where  he  and  Joe  studied 
Latin  and  palmed  off  their  constructions  on  innocent 
Jessie,  the  one  small  child  of  the  house,  the  boys  went 
to  the  grammar  school  in  town,  and  again  I  had  to 
stand  on  the  defensive.  Not  only  was  I  spoiling  the 
parson's  boy  and  making  him  feel  head  and  shoulders 
above  his  neighbors,  but  I  was  also  putting  notions  into 
the  head  of  Deacon  Thad's  Joe. 

Before  the  boys  struck  out  into  this  new  path  I  had 
misgivings  and  troubled  thinkings  in  the  night  watches 
that  had  formerly  been  given  up  to  sleep.  The  mossy 
old  roof  of  the  brown  house  seemed  too  low  and  its 
walls  too  narrow  for  the  new,  pent-up  world  within. 
And  when  the  two  were  really  gone  to  the  rough-and- 
tumble  life  they  coveted,  the  silence  of  the  house  was 
like  the  silence  of  life  growing  underground.  There 
was  a  hush  of  expectancy  in  the  air,  an  eager  waiting 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  77 

for  something,  from  Monday  morning  to  Friday  night. 
I  often  caught  myself  walking  011  tiptoe  in  those 
days. 

And  when  Friday  night  did  come  at  last,  with  its 
rush  of  fresh-air  school  life  filling  every  crevice  and 
corner,  it  was  good  to  think  that  the  two  lives  had  been 
mercifully  spared  one  week  more.  Sunday  too  was  a 
day  of  devout  thanksgiving  that  double-barrelled  shot- 
guns had  once  more  refrained  from  going  off  acciden- 
tally and  killing  behind  them.  It  was  a  great  thing  in 
a  rural  place  to  trust  two  boys  and  two  guns  out  of 
sight,  and  I  might  have  been  indicted  for  murder  if 
Providence  had  not  graciously  stepped  in  to  save  life 
numberless  times. 

What  fun  we  had  with  the  game,  and  what  surprise 
parties  in  preparing  it  for  Sunday's  dinner  ! 

Sometimes  we  joined  forces  and  met  at  the  Deacon's 
to  discuss  the  chances  of  the  hunt  and  dress  the  game, 
which  might  chance  to  be  a  red  squirrel,  a  field  mouse, 
or  a  meadow  lark  heavy  with  shot. 

It  was  something  of  a  task  to  get  the  boys  started  for 
school  before  light  on  Monday  mornings,  as  the  days 
shortened.  Sunday  nights  belonged  to  the  Deacon's 
house,  and  there  we  had  our  weekly  "  sing,"  one  neigh- 
bor after  another  dropping  in  to  listen,  comment,  or 
help.  Aunt  Marty  played  the  melodeon,  and  the  boys 
sang  with  her,  while  the  Deacon,  who  could  still  look 


78  A    SPIXSTElt'S  LEAFLETS 

over  their  shoulders,  got  in  a  hit-and-miss  note  where 
he  could.  He  looked  an  inch  or  t\vo  taller  than  on 
week  days,  and  stretched  his  neck  above  a  high,  shiny 
collar,  struggling  with  deep  bass  notes  that  often  wan- 
dered through  the  tune  like  lost  sheep  in  strange  pas- 
ture, rashly  jumping  the  bars,  and  making  high  and 
frisky  leaps  in  unexpected  places. 

One  night  I  well  remember  when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craig 
came  in  and  helped  on  the  concert,  and  my  bright-eyed 
boy  sang  tenor  with  the  voice  of  an  angel.  As  I  looked 
across  his  smooth  cheek,  ruddy  through  the  clear  olive 
of  his  complexion,  and  watched  its  color  come  and  go, 
my  heart  swelled  till  it  pushed  the  water  out  at  my 
eyes.  I  loved  Joe  as  I  always  had,  but  he  could  never 
be  my  very  own.  God  gave  me  this  child  as  surely  as 
he  gave  Samuel  to  Hannah's  prayer.  I  wonder  if  the 
mother  knew  what  to  do  with  her  boy  after  the  prayer 
was  answered  ?  She  had  at  least  one  definite  duty, 
which  took  him  to  the  temple.  I  tried  to  bring  the 
temple  to  my  boy.  One  Friday  night  when  he  came 
home  I  said,  "  Somebody  has  smoked  all  over  you, 
Timmy.  We'll  have  to  hang  these  clothes  out  to  air 
overnight."  That  time  I  could  not  say  Philip.  When 
he  had  gone  to  his  room  and  I  to  mine,  and  the  clothes 
were  airing  in  the  woodshed,  my  old  scheme  of  going  to 
l>ed  and  going  to  sleep  failed.  Even  thinking  of  all  the 
Johns  I  knew  and  reciting  the  alphabet  backward  did 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  79 

not  keep  my  eyes  closed.  They  were  like  jacks-in-boxes 
that  are  under  compulsion.  When  the  power  was  re- 
moved, up  flew  the  lids. 

Next  day  I  said  nothing ;  but  Sunday  night,  when  I 
went  up  to  see  that  my  boy  had  two  blankets  on  his 
bed  and  that  he  was  well  tucked  up,  I  made  a  proposi- 
tion. We  had  talked  over  going  to  Europe  for  six 
months,  after  his  four  years  at  college ;  and  though  it 
seemed  a  wild  dream,  I  had  a  fond  hope  that  it  might 
come  true  after  the  manner  of  another  dream  of  mine. 
But  life  was  shaping  things  for  me,  and  I  was  no  longer 
a  dabbler  in  clay.  My  heart  quaked,  but  years  had 
given  me  control  of  my  voice,  and  I  could  quietly  say 
that  after  thinking  the  matter  over  in  my  still  days, 
I  had  decided  that  after  graduation  he  would  be  old 
enough  to  go  abroad  without  me,  and  that  if  he  would 
promise  to  use  no  tobacco  till  he  was  twenty-five  years 
old,  he  should  have  in  addition  to  his  own  fund  the 
money  that  I  had  set  apart  for  myself.  The  long  lashes 
lay  on  his  cheek  for  a  moment,  and  I  listened  to  the 
thumping  of  my  heart.  Then  he  turned  his  face  to  the 
wall  and  gave  the  promise,  and  I  bade  him  good-night. 
With  a  mother's  blind  faith  I  trusted  him.  I  believed 
that  he  would  keep  his  word  because  I  did  trust  him. 
It  accorded  witli  my  cut-and-dried  theory.  How  did  I 
know  ?  That  I  cannot  tell.  I  do  not  know  how  I  knew, 
any  more  than  I  know  that  I  am  immortal.  It  was  as 


80  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

if  I  had  two  souls,  each  acting  independently  and  with- 
out knowledge  of  the  other,  yet  bound  invisibly  each  to 
each  for  time  and  eternity. 

There  were  some  things  that  I  had  to  face  in  the 
Monday's  silence  when  my  two  boys  had  forgotten 
their  homes  for  the  time. 

Was  my  Philip  glad  to  be  released  from  me?  Had 
the  prospect  of  escorting  an  old  maid  through  Europe, 
of  seeing  to  her  baggage,  of  shortening  his  steps  to  hers, 
been  irksome  to  his  thought  ?  Joe  —  but  Joe  did  not 
belong  to  me.  The  mother  heart  has  pangs  of  its  own 
that  no  man  or  boy  can  ever  suffer.  One  dream  of  my 
life  was  over,  and  it  did  not  matter.  It  had  always 
seemed  to  me  that  Europe  was  farther  away  than  hea- 
ven, and  I  might  still  hope  for  the  nearer  journey,  which 
implied  neither  care  nor  baggage  nor  expense.  But  I 
wanted  my  boy  to  want  me  to  go.  That  was  all.  I 
wanted  him  to  insist  upon  it,  that  I  might  have  the  keen 
joy  of  refusing.  Perhaps  he  would  have  insisted  —  if 
he  had  known.  But  that  was  not  satisfactory.  Better 
be  content  to  live  outside  the  hearts  of  those  we  love ; 
to  trust  where  we  cannot  know ;  to  live  on  the  south 
side  of  our  lives. 

And  I  was  happy,  with  a  real  mother-happiness.  The 
long  dream  was  over,  but  I  had  waked  to  something 
greater  and  better.  Another  portion  of  my  life  had 
been  freely  given  to  my  boy.  It  was  as  if  a  little 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  81 

trickle  of  my  blood  were  finding  its  way  through  his 
veins. 

And  he  had  promised  !  I  would  not  doubt  him  for 
an  instant.  That  bond  betwixt  us  would  keep  him  from 
a  certain  fast  set  that  defiles  every  college.  It  would 
be  a  safeguard  in  more  ways  than  one.  The  small  edge 
of  the  wedge  would  be  blunted :  the  little  leak  in  the 
dam  stopped. 

At  the  beginning  of  their  second  winter  in  town  the 
boys  went  to  dancing-school,  and  the  village  fumed  and 
fermented  over  it  till  spring.  The  corner  store  won- 
dered what  kind  of  monkeys  they  would  turn  out  to 
be ;  and  Deacon  Thaddeus  was  no  better  than  a  back- 
slider to  his  old  neighbors. 

Occasionally  we  mothers  who  had  not  even  the  title 
went  in  on  pleasant  Fridays,  sat  through  the  long  les- 
son, and  brought  the  boys  home  with  us.  Or  was  it 
they  who  took  us  in  charge  ? 

The  hall  was  sunny  and  gay  with  short-frocked  and 
bright-sashed  little  girls.  Joe  was  perpetual  motion 
itself.  Philip  moved  as  he  was  bid,  reticent  and  up- 
right with  dignity. 

There  was  one  child  in  the  class  who  always  knew 
where  Philip  was  ;  and  I  always  knew  where  she  was. 
I  had  seen  those  eyes  before.  They  belonged  to  another 
generation,  and  brought  back  memories  that  I  had  spent 
the  best  part  of  my  life  trying  to  forget.  Joe  liked  her 


82  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

pretty,  guileless  ways,  and  watched  her  with  open  ad- 
miration;  but  she  was  always  talking  when  he  came 
near  in  the  pauses  of  the  dance. 

She  always  saw  Philip,  and  he  had  no  difficulty  in 
securing  her  for  a  partner.  I  doubt  if  Joe  laid  it  to 
heart.  He  was  incapable  of  being  slighted,  because  he 
never  expected  attention.  Like  his  good  father,  he  had 
a  way  of  looking  out  for  the  neglected  ones  ;  and  all 
the  poor  dancers  and  stupid  little  superfluities  beamed 
on  Joe  and  watched  Philip  from  afar. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  83 


XI 

I    BEGAN   to   get   ac- 
quainted with  little  Jes- 
sie   Craig    that   winter. 
She  missed 
her    old 
playmates, 
and    there 

was  none  to  take  their  places.     Looking  into 
the  firelight  as  it  drew  towards  bedtime,  she 
would    say    solemnly,    "  I    do    wonder   what 
those  boys  are   doing  now !  "     It  did  not  matter  that 
"those  boys"  never  gave  her  a  thought. 

The  summer  before,  Philip  used  to  turn  a  cold 
shoulder  011  her  after  school  hours ;  but  Joe  didn't 
mind  her  tagging  and  endless  questioning.  When  she 
tried  to  catch  a  fish  in  the  thread  of  a  brook  that  was 
just  large  enough  to  glisten  in  the  sunshine,  he  even 
went  so  far  as  to  bait  her  hook  with  a  wriggling  worm, 
r while  she  shut  her  eyes  tight.  Under  such  temptation 
he  sometimes  slipped  away  unobserved  ;  but  his  con- 
science always  brought  him  back  to  explain  why  it  was 


84  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

not  convenient  to  stay.  No  one  expected  Philip  to 
explain,  so  lie  never  had  to  take  that  trouble. 

Jessie  was  a  wonderfully  alive  child.  Her  eyes 
danced,  and  her  voice,  and  her  feet.  Of  course  she 
must  not  go  to  dancing-school,  because  she  was  the 
minister's  child;  but  often  in  the  early  winter  twilight 
I  locked  the  door  and  drew  the  curtains,  and  taught  her 
all  the  steps  I  knew. 

The  firelight  made  wild  guesses  at  our  shadows  on 
the  wall  as  we  went  down  in  deep  courtesies  to  each 
other.  Mr.  Craig  would  have  winked  at  a  sin  so  small, 
but  I  did  not  tell  him  lest  he  might  not  be  able  to  face 
his  parishioners  when  they  hurled  interrogations  at  him. 
And  the  child  —  bless  her  heart !  —  didn't  know  that 
it  was  dancing.  It  was  just  a  natural  kind  of  play  to 
her.  and  she  saw  no  ludicrous  side  to  it. 

Sometimes  she  went  home  before  dusk  to  ask  if  she 
might  stay  all  night.  These  were  times  when  I  had 
watched  for  her  and  laid  snares  to  stay  her  feet.  It 
would  have  seemed  like  the  old  days  with  Joe  come 
back  again,  only  girls  are  so  different.  She  would  bring 
her  doll  and  undress  it,  and  chatter  to  it,  and  sing  it  to 
sleep,  and  shade  its  eyes  from  the  light,  and  hold  up  a 
warning  finger  if  I  spoke  or  stirred  at  the  critical  mo- 
ment. Once  when  the  doll  was  left  behind,  she  went 
out  and  hunted  up  a  stray  kitten,  wrapped  it  in  a  shawl, 
and  apologized  for  its  tail,  which  would  not  hide.  It 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  85 

was  a  new  kind  of  child,  she  said,  that  was  made  with 
a  feather  duster.  People  were  patented,  of  course, 
because  110  one  but  God  ever  made  them ;  and  this  was 
a  real,  new  patent  baby. 

Mr.  Craig  was  something  of  an  inventor,  in  a  losing 
way,  and  Jessie's  mind  was  like  a  damp  sponge.  After 
tea.  when  her  baby,  whatever  it  might  be,  was  asleep, 
she  would  always  come  on  tiptoe  and  draw  a  footstool 
close  beside  me,  to  beg  in  whispers  for  a  story.  "  A 
really  truly  story  of  those  nice  times  when  you  was  a 
littler  girl  than  me." 

It  was  a  good  deal  to  keep  the  small  maid  content 
and  happy,  and  I  doubt  if  Mrs.  Craig  minded  my  taking 
the  care  off  her  shoulders  now  and  then.  With  all  her 
bounding  life  Jessie  held  a  moody  little  soul  in  the 
deep  part  of  her  nature.  She  was  always  crying  out  in 
the  night  arid  refusing  to  be  comforted,  lest  her  mother 
should  die  before  morning.  "  For  God  does  let  mothers 
die,  you  know,  even  when  little  girls  pray  hard  to  him." 

It  was  useless  trying  to  soothe  her,  and  so  we  some- 
times got  up  and  roasted  apples  before  the  dying  fire  to 
drive  sad  thoughts  away.  After  the  apples  were  eaten 
she  could  sleep  peacefully.  When  the  stomach  has  a 
task  of  its  own,  the  brain  often  takes  a  little  breathing- 
spell. 

There  were  two  natures  struggling  in  the  small  com- 
of  this  wisp  of  a  child  ;  the  one  merry  and  bright 


86  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

by  day,  the  other  solemn  and  dark  at  night,  feeling  the 
immensity  of  the  universe  and  the  improbability  of 
God's  power  to  remember  little  children  and  know  how 
much  they  need  mothers  —  always  mothers,  mothers. 
Fathers  were  well  enough  in  their  way,  but  they  were 
only  fathers  and  irresponsible  men.  The  fatherhood  of 
God  did  not  appeal  to  her.  "  I  wish,  oh  I  do  wish  he 
was  a  mother  !  "  she  would  sigh  to  herself  and  her  doll, 
forgetting  for  the  moment  her  audience  of  one. 

The  child  was  a  mirror  that  1  made  great  discoveries 
in.  By  her  aid.  all  blindly  given,  I  began  to  see  myself 
as  others  saw  me.  The  universal  idea  of  motherhood 
came  home  to  me  with  power. 

I  have  observed  that  when  people  marry  quite  young 
they  assimilate  more  readily  than  when  they  marry  late 
in  life.  The  stronger  character  is  almost  sure  to  absorb 
the  weaker,  literally  making  of  twain  one.  Sometimes 
the  wife  is  It,  and  the  husband  follows  meekly  in  her 
train,  accepts  her  judgments  as  conclusive,  thinks  her 
thoughts,  and  repeats  her  sayings.  In  this  case,  Mr. 
Craig  was  It.  And  when  I  saw  his  child's  devotion 
to  an  anaemic  and  wholly  uninteresting  mother,  my 
soul  took  courage. 

If  these  things  be  done  in  the  green  tree,  why  not  in 
the  dry?  I  studied  over  the  great  problem,  and  it  was 
not  a  bad  thing  for  me,  because  it  filled  the  room  that 
other  puzzling  thoughts  were  apt  to  crowd  into  and 
hold  like  unmannerly  first-comers  at  a  show. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  87 

I  wished  often  for  power  to  fathom  the  child's  future. 
She  would  never  be  wholly  happy,  and  she  might  be 
entirely  miserable. 

I  longed  to  live  till  she  came  to  womanhood ;  but  as 
her  small  life  began  to  push  a  tendril  here  and  there 
among  my  dry  twigs,  a  measure  of  dread  mingled  with 
the  longing. 

Jack  Vann  was  always  a  terror  to  the  child.  He 
lurked  behind  trees  to  jump  at  her,  or  made  strange 
sounds  under  cover  of  the  leafy  branches. 

It  was  fun  to  catch  her  cherished  doll  away  and  toss 
it  into  a  roadside  blackberry  patch.  The  child  did  not 
mind  scratched  hands  or  torn  clothes  in  the  brave 
rescue,  but  if  dolly  came  to  harm  her  passion  burst  forth, 
and  dry  sobs  of  anger  would  shake  her  from  head  to 
foot.  Yet  when  Jack  was  severely  punished  for  dis- 
obeying his  father,  she  cried  herself  ill. 

"Please,  God,  kill  Mr.  Vann !  "  I  heard  her  whisper, 
after  she  had  lain  quietly  in  my  bed  for  an  hour. 

"  I  think  he's  a  blastyderm  !  "  were  the  first  words 
that  came  when  she  opened  her  eyes  in  the  morning. 

"  Who,  Jessie  ?  " 

"  Why,  Mr.  Vann  — course  !  " 

"  What  is  a  '  blastyderm '  ?  " 

"  I  don't  'zactly  know,  but  I  guess  it's  something 
pretty  bad.  I  heard  my  papa  say  it  one  day  just  —  as 
—  as  —  soft-ly." 


88  A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

But  when  that  same  Jack  was  punished  much  more 
severely  at  school  for  cruelty  to  a  motherless  boy  of 
half  his  size,  Jessie's  eyes  blazed. 

"•  I'd  just  like  to  punish  him  myself !  "  she  said  with. 
set  teeth. 

"•  And  how  should  you  do  it  Jessie  ?  " 

"  I  should  know  how." 

Most  things  Jessie  knew  for  sure.  When  she  was 
no  more  than  two  or  three  removes  from  a  baby,  her 
father  was  solemnly  assured  that  she  knew  as  much  as 
God  about  some  things,  and  a  great  deal  more  than  He 
about  dolls  and  mothers.  She  insisted  that  before  she 
came  down  here  the  angels  explained  a  few  hard  things 
to  her,  but  the  rest  she  knew  herself. 

The  mother's  conscience  took  possession  of  the  child's 
sayings;  but  Mr.  Craig  said,  "Let  her  alone;"  and,  as 
usual,  the  subject  woman-nature  obeyed,  and  Jessie  was 
mercifully  delivered  from  brooding  over  her  own  dis- 
puted thoughts.  This  time  the  father  knew  better  than 
the  mother  that  all  out-of-doors  was  the  scientific  cure 
for  self-consciousness. 

All  the  week  before  Christmas  Jessie  and  I  spent 
our  mornings  in  South  Woods,  searching  for  ground 
pine,  and  our  evenings  in  making  it  into  wreaths  and 
ropes  for  the  transformation  of  the  decrepit  old  house. 

"  I  s'pose,"  said  the  child,  as  we  brushed  away  the 
light  snow  and  pulled  up  beautiful  trails  of  green,  "  I 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  89 

s'pose  you've  hunted  for  Christmas  greens  as  much  as 
a  hundred  times,  haven't  you  ?  Well,  fifty  then  —  any- 
way ten ! " 

It  occurred  to  me  that  our  mature  thought  of  eternity 
is  about  as  sharply  defined. 

This  was  to  be  a  grand  holiday-keeping  for  me.  The 
entire  dancing-class  was  coming  out  from  town — the 
girls  to  spend  the  night  at  the  parsonage,  the  boys  at 
Deacon  Thad's,  where  all  would  dine  next  day. 

Jessie  resolutely  stood  by  me,  and  refused  to  share 
her  room.  Anybody  might  have  it  all,  and  welcome, 
after  she  had  hidden  her  dolls.  The  child  had  small 
faith  in  the  general  conscience  of  a  crowd  of  girls. 

There  was  to  be  dancing  at  my  house,  which  would 
do  no  harm,  as  I  was  the  black  sheep  by  courtesy  of 
the  neighborhood.  There  are  certain  obvious  advan- 
tages in  a  hardened  conscience  that  even  the  elect  might 
envy,  as  they  doubtless  do.  We  who  keep  a  Bible  at 
hand  can  readily  recall  the  justification  of  the  publican. 
I  am  quite  sure  that  both  Mr.  Craig  and  Deacon  Thad- 
deus  begrudged  me  my  privilege. 

The  24th  of  December  broke  crisp  and  concentrated 
as  an  icicle.  Our  fun  began  early  in  the  evening,  and 
lasted  till  ten  o'clock,  with  dancing  and  games,  and 
plentiful  supplies  of  sweets  that  the  youthful  digestion 
never  stops  to  parley  about.  The  dance  in  all  its 
brightness  and  grace  wound  in  and  out  and  around  the 


90  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

chimney,  and  my  Philip  was  the  hero  of  the  hour. 
The  girls  fluttered  and  giggled  outside  the  danger  line 
of  the  mistletoe,  and  only  one  forgot  for  an  instant 
where  it  hung :  but  she  ran  away  as  soon  as  Philip 
discovered  her  mistake. 

The  evening  flew  on  wings  as  swift  as  those  of  the 
hunting  wind  that  jealously  tried  the  latches  and 
shrieked  and  lamented  outside  :  and  then  the  bright 
little  crowd  came  with  all  their  small  dancing-school 
airs  and  graces  to  say  good-night  and  tell  me  what  a 
perfectly  lovely  time  they  had  had. 

Jessie  stood  beside  me  with  shining  eyes,  and  cheeks 
the  color  of  the  pink  carnations  she  wore,  and  gave  her 
morsel  of  a  hand  to  each  one  after  me  —  all  but  one. 
When  they  were  gone,  I  said,  "  Jessie,  you  missed  Alice 
LovelFs  good-night.     What  were  you  thinking  about?" 
"  About  her !  "  said  the  child  sturdily.     The  contrast 
between  her  stature  and  her  expression  was  absurd. 
"  But  you  didn't  seem  to  see  her." 
"  I  could  if  Pd  wished  to,  but  I  didn't  wish  to." 
It  is  a  curious  thing  to  stand  outside  a  small  life,  so 
small  that  you  could  crush  it  out  with  one  hand,  and 
wonder  what  is  going  on  behind  the  bars  that  shut  you 
out. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


91 


XII 

PHILIP  was    al- 
ways kind  enough 
to  check  me  when 
I  repeated  myself  after  the  man- 
ner of  the  ancients.  And  though 
it  pinched  now  and  then,  I  kept  it  to  my- 
self and  reflected  that  nature  had  made 
me  altogether  too  thin-skinned,  and  that 
I  was  thus  providentially  saved  from  the 
besetting  weakness  of  advancing  age. 

I  soon  learned  to  bring  myself  sharply 
to  a  standstill  when  some  tale  of  the  past 
lingering  fondly  in  my  mind  floated  to 
the  surface,  as  drowning  men  are  said 
to  do,  for  the  third  time. 

In  many  ways  my  education  was  just 
beginning. 

The  woman  I  had  been  accustomed  to  look  upon 
as  Myself  railed  at  and  despised  the  demon  Worry. 
The  Myself  that  listened  to  her  own  breathing  when 
there  was  no  Jessie    to   chatter   ghosts   of   the   future 
away,  became  a  restless  creature.  / 


#•2  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

There  was  no  use  in  withdrawing  the  curtains  and 
looking-  out  at  the  windows  after  tea,  because  there  was 
nothing  to  be  seen  but  my  own  tire-shine  dancing  in 
and  out  of  the  Norway  spruce  that  kept  solemn  watch 
and  ward  through  the  still,  dark  hours.  At  night  I 
often  fell  so  low  as  to  conjure  tip  all  the  Johns  I  ever 
knew  —  John  Blake,  John  Miller,  John  Kent,  John  — 
Join,  —  n,  who  \\-as  that  other  John?  —  climbing  up  the 
sleepy-ladder  with  Johns  for  rungs,  while  impish  Doubts 
and  Fears  chased  each  other  in  and  out  among  the 
Johns  like  a  game  of  tag,  winding  up  like  the  figures 
in  ladies'  chain  —  unlinking,  threading  their  blind  way 
around  and  among  the  Johns,  till  I  was  constrained  to 
rise  and  roast  apples  for  my  lonely  self's  sake. 

In  some  way  a  little  of  the  old  glamour  of  life  was 
getting  rubbed  off,  and  the  process  was  painful.  As  I 
ranged  my  books  on  the  low  reading-stand  of  a  lonely 
evening,  their  makers  came  nearer  my  own  life  than  in 
the  old,  solitary  days  when  my  horizon  was  close  at 
hand. 

Might  not  they  also  have  worries  and  cares  for  the 
future  —  those  people  whom  I  had  set  apart  in  a  little 
Eden  of  their  own,  where  they  were  clothed  like  the 
flowers  of  the  field  and  nourished  with  honey-dew  and 
milk  of  Paradise  ?  I  was  not  a  little  sorry  to  see  my 
gods  come  down  to  me  in  the  likeness  of  men ;  for 
had  I  not  always  been  on  tiptoe  for  a  glimpse  of  their 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  9o 

Olympus  ?  The  strain  was  less  when  we  Avalked  on 
plain  old  Mother  Earth  together,  but  something  was 
lost. 

In  February  Deacon  Noadiah  passed  away  almost 
imperceptibly,  at  the  great  age  of  ninety-nine,  but 
continued  to  live  on  in  memory  as  vigorously  as  in 
the  flesh. 

Miss  Mercy  Jane  had  the  excitement  of  a  funeral  to 
stir  the  lees  of  her  life  and  furnish  topics  for  limbered 
conversation. 

She  was  proud  to  usher  the  solemn-faced  neighbors 
into  the  chilly  north  room,  with  its  cellary  flavor  and 
darkened  windows,  and  to  turn  aside  a  corner  of  the 
green  paper  curtain,  that  they  might  "see  pa  so  neat 
and  peaceful,  not  a  minute  over  seventy  in  looks,  and 
quite  pretty  for  him." 

I  think  we  all  felt  a  growing  insecurity  of  life  after 
this.  It  was  like  having  a  trusted  oak  that  had  stood 
tempest  and  lightning,  summer  heat  and  winter  cold, 
yield  at  last  to  the  inevitable.  But  when  one's  years 
are  all  fulfilled  there  is  no  great  shock  at  their  cessation. 

Months  afterwards  Mercy  Jane  told  me  that  she 
never  felt  alone.  It  had  been  her  habit  to  think  aloud 
in  all  the  years  when  speech  and  silence  were  one  to  the 
Deacon ;  and  she  went  about  the  house  carrrying  on 
conversations  with  those  who  were  gone  as  comfortably 
as  Mr.  Andrew  Lang  writes  letters  to  dead  authors. 


94  A    sriXSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

Through  long  intimacy  with  their  habits  of  mind,  it 
was  easy  to  frame  replies  for  them  to  any  every-day 
question,  and  she  settled  matters  in  this  way  very  much 
as  a  hoy  in  doubt  flips  up  a  cent. 

Sometimes  she  stopped  before  a  mirror  in  her  daily 
task  of  dusting  unused  things  and  said,  "  How-d'ye  do, 
Thankful !  "  "  How-d'ye  do,  Delight !  "  as  some  look  of 
one  or  another  long-departed  sister  appeared  in  her  own 
reflection.  Sometimes  it  was  her  mother  who  looked 
out  at  her  eyes  :  and  as  time  went  on  she  held  ghostly 
conferences  with  the  Deacon,  whose  spare  form  she  had 
perpetuated,  though  with  kindlier  angles. 

It  was  a  comfort  to  her  to  see  the  family  likeness 
emphasized  as  she  bore  it  alone  down  the  years  ;  as  if 
Nature,  jealous  of  the  type,  had  gathered  up  her  basket 
of  fragments  with  scrupulous  economy  and  worked 
them  over  into  a  suggestive  composite  of  those  who  had 
been,  but  no  longer  were. 

In  June  a  remarkable  thing  came  to  pass.  It  was 
as  much  discussed  as  a  presidential  election,  and  with 
quite  as  much  difference  of  opinion. 

Mr.  Craig,  always  on  the  lookout  for  some  invest- 
ment of  uneasy  genius  which  burned  in  his  fertile  brain 
like  money  in  a  spendthrift's  pocket,  had  spent  his  win- 
ter's leisure  in  devising  a  new  rowlock  which  was  to 
make  his  fortune.  His  inspiration  had  watched  with 
him  at  night  and  kept  him  awake  far  longer  than  the 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  95 

plans  of  liis  sermons,  which  in  consequence  gave  his 
Sunday's  audience  the  rest  he  so  sorely  needed  for  him- 
self. But  before  applying  for  a  patent,  Mr.  Craig 
determined  to  test  his  invention  on  South  Pond. 

The  stir  in  the  village  began  when  he  offered  a  prize 
for  the  fastest  rowing  over  a  mile  course. 

The  Van n  boys  were  eager  to  enter  the  lists,  but  the 
Squire  said  he  wouldn't  even  go  to  see  any  such  tom- 
foolery, and  encourage  boys  and  parsons  in  wasting  time. 
For  his  part,  he'd  sooner  give  a  prize  for  the  quickest 
hoeing  of  a  potato  row.  But  the  prize  was  only  a 
figure  of  speech  with  him,  and  while  the  race  was  in 
progress  his  boys  were  doomed  to  hoe  their  row  without 
a  semblance  of  reward. 

Mr.  V  ami's  high-sounding  words  against  the  folly  of 
the  parson,  which  through  ignorance  were  not  really 
half  so  wicked  as  he  intended  them  to  be.  were  repeated 
from  mouth  to  mouth  until  the  alembic  of  the  Corners 
distilled  them  at  fourth  proof;  and  little  Mr.  Sykes  of 
the  paper-mill  said  he  shouldn't  think  any  man  would 
dare  go  to  meeting  after  such  talk. 

This  speech  was  promptly  reported,  with  friendly  ad- 
ditions, to  the  Squire,  who  retorted  that  he'd  had  his 
religion  thorough,  in  the  nateral  way,  and  didn't  have 
to  go  to  meetin'  to  get  it  inocoolated  into  him. 

Meanwhile  the  boys,  Joe  and  Philip,  with  two  or 
three  others,  were  improving  their  stroke,  developing 


96  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

their  muscle,  and  growing  so  fast  over  night  that  it 
was  difficult  for  the  tailor  to  keep  up  with  them. 

When  the  day  appointed  for  the  race  came,  I  was 
alert  and  anxious,  as  if  all  the  responsibility  rested  on 
me.  Xor  was  Jessie  lacking  in  enthusiasm.  Directly 
after  breakfast  she  came  over  with  wild  roses,  and 
ox-eyed  daisies,  and  ••  consider  lilies  "  of  the  fields  on 
tall  stems  :  and  we  went  out  together  and  picked  every 
one  of  my  sweet  peas  with  the  dew  still  on  their  inno- 
cent faces. 

The  banks  of  South  Pond  were  lined  with  curious 
spectators,  for  within  the  memorv  of  man  there  had 
been  no  occasion  like  this. 

My  heart  swelled  and  sank  with  pride  and  apprehen- 
sion as  we  stood  on  the  bridge  together,  Deacon  Thad- 
deus  and  his  wife,  and  Mrs.  Craig  and  I,  with  Jessie 
between  us.  The  Deacon  put  on  his  hat  and  took  it  off 
every  half  minute,  and  talked  about  any  and  everything 
but  the  boys.  Very  far  off  they  looked,  those  boys  who 
\vere  all  in  all  to  us,  when  their  oars  made  the  first 
ripple  on  the  deep  water,  and  my  eyes  were  too  dim  to 
distinguish  between  our  boys  and  the  others  who  were 
of  no  account. 

But  Jessie  caught  my  hand  and  whispered,  "  Joe  and 
Philip  are  ahead,  and  Joe  is  ahead  of  him  !  " 

It  was  a  broad  pair  of  shoulders  that  neared  the 
bridge,  so  much  broader  than  those  I  thought  my  little 


A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS  97 

Joe  owned !  and  he  pulled  heartily,  like  a  calm,  young 
giant  who  feels  his  own  force  in  his  veins,  and  knows  of 
great  reserves  of  strength  as  yet  uncalled  for. 

Philip  was  rowing  nervously,  two  boatlengths  hehind, 
and  the  others  had  given  up  the  race,  and  were  pad- 
dling near  the  banks  to  talk  with  their  friends.  As  Joe 
shot  under  the  bridge  he  gave  us  one  bright  glance  that 
comprehended  the  group,  and  with  slower  stroke  waited 
for  Philip.  I  saw  it,  and  so  did  Mrs.  Thaddeus.  The 
Deacon  was  too  excited  to  see  anything  less  than  the 
pond  itself.  As  he  said  afterwards,  the  boys  looked 
like  water-spiders,  and  he  couldn't  have  told  t'other 
from  which  to  save  his  soul. 

Jessie  gripped  my  hand  tighter  and  tighter,  and  for 
an  instant  the  two  boys  pulled  side  by  side  ;  but  as 
they  neared  the  judges'  stand  Philip  shot  ahead. 

There  was  a  roar  of  voices,  and  in  the  silence  that 
followed  I  picked  up  the  flowers  that  had  fallen  from 
my  hands,  and  led  Jessie  blindly  along  the  Deacon's 
up-meadow  road,  forgetting  the  others. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ? "  asked  the  child,  pulling 
her  hand  away. 

"  To  carry  my  flowers  to  Joe." 

I  looked  down  at  the  little  face,  which  was  stern 
and  set. 

"  But  Philip  won!     I  saw  him  !  " 


'S   LEAFLETS 


THE  years  that  tread  on  on  our 
heels  and  peremptorily  order  us  to 
step  a  little 
faster  and 
make  way  for 
the  crowd  be- 
hind,  soon 
p  us  lied  our 
boys  out  of 
the  grammar- 
school  and 
into  college, 
and  we  saw 
them  no  more. 
This,  like  all 

unguarded  statements,  is  not  a  literal 
truth,  but  a  sad  approach  to  it.  The 
two  did  take  "cuts  "  now  and  then,  and 
rush  home  for  a  holiday  that  was  shortened  at  both 
ends.  But  though  it  was  joy  to  see  them,  an  uneasy 
sense  of  something  lacking  remained ;  and  I,  like  Jessie, 
felt  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  till  they  were 
gone  again. 


A   SPIXSTElt'S  LEAFLETS  99 

Yet  a  mighty  wave  of  college  life  seemed  to  sweep  in 
with  them  and  freshen  the  dry  sands  of  life  that  were 
left  a  little  moist  long  after  the  ebb. 

Proud  days  were  these  for  us,  the  stranded  families, 
who  fringed  the  deserted  shore  and  patiently  waited  to 
learn  what  cargo  our  ventures  would  bring  home  at  last. 

But  Jessie  pouted  for  a  day  or  two  after  our  brief 
privileges,  and  said  boys  were  no  good.  You  just  stirred 
up  everything  for  them  and  they  took  it  all  for  granted 
and  cried  for  more.  Jessie  was  fast  growing  aware 
of  her  own  dignity  and  the  increasing  length  of  her 
gowns,  though  her  logic  was  still  immature.  With  old- 
time  loyalty  to  her  fading  mother,  she  refused  to  be 
sent  away  to  school,  and  Mr.  Craig,  making  what  virtue 
he  could  of  the  necessity,  allowed  her  to  study  as  she 
pleased.  It  went  against  his  better  judgment,  and  made 
her  old  beyond  her  years  ;  but  the  father  in  him  was  as 
pleased  and  proud  to  see  her  triumphing  over  Greek 
roots  as  if  she  had  been  a  labor-saving  machine  of  his 
own  invention. 

Jessie  was  considered  proud  by  the  village  girls, 
though  they  used  another  adjective  in  expressing  their 
opinion ;  and  I  do  not  think  they  misjudged  her.  She 
scorned  sewing  societies  and  insisted  that  her  father's 
salary  did  not  buy  "the  services  of  the  family. 

Poor  Mrs.  Craig  was  worried  by  these  revolutionary 
opinions,  but  her  small  ratchet  of  protest  was  of  little 


1UU  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

account  when  the  great  wheel  of  progress  was  once 
under  way.  It  was  pleasing  to  see  her  submit  meekly 
to  the  inevitable  and  follow  her  own  conscience  at  last, 
though  somewhat  timidly,  instead  of  consulting  the 
conscience  of  Mrs.  Vann.  who  always  knew  the  exact 
right  thing  for  other  people  to  do. 

It  struck  me  that  there  are  compensations  now  and 
then,  even  in  this  life,  when  the  Squire's  wife  Avas 
made  president  of  the  Home  Missionary  Sewing  Society 
and  there  allowed  to  have  her  own  way  and  say. 

The  vigorous  use  of  her  unwonted  prerogative  re- 
minded me  of  Jessie's  youthful  rendering  of  the 
Golden  Rule  —  ••  Just  as  other  people  do  to  you,  do 
you  do  just  so  to  them  ;  "  only  in  this  case  "'  them  "  was 
represented  by  Mrs.  Craig  and  not  by  Squire  Vann, 
who  still  ruled  with  a  high  hand  at  home. 

At  college  Joe  was  on  the  football  team,  and  it  was 
Philip's  turn  to  be  proud  of  him,  but  not  with  the 
same  amount  of  fear  and  tremor  as  that  which  qualified 
our  joy. 

We  went  to  see  the  first  game  as  if  it  had  been  a 
funeral  and  we  the  chief  mourners.  Mr.  Craig's  pres- 
ence added  to  the  realism  of  the  thought.  Aside  from 
his  interest  in  Joe,  his  inventive  turn  of  mind  was  on 
the  lookout  for  something  to  improve,  even  if  his  last 
venture  had  as  usual  failed  to  succeed.  Hope  always 
sprang  eternal  in  the  very  human  breast  of  Mr.  Craig 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  101 

and  led  to  far  bolder  flights  than  faith.  But  we  women 
cared  for  nothing  on  earth  save  the  boy  who  was  com- 
ing into  the  arena  to  kill  or  be  killed  before  our  very 
eyes.  Even  brave  Mrs.  Thaddeus  blenched  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  men  on  the  other  side  in  their  gro- 
tesque padding,  and  wished  herself  at  home. 

But  Mr.  Craig,  with  the  gallant  air  of  one  town-born, 
leaned  towards  her,  hat  in  hand,  and  said,  "  My  dear 
madam,  that  young  giant  of  yours  isn't  going  to  lose  so 
much  as  an  ear  —  much  less  his  head." 

Nor  did  he  ;  though  between  shutting  my  eyes  when 
I  saw  him  go  under  in  the  scrimmage  and  weeping  for 
joy  when  he  kicked  the  goal,  I  saw  next  to  nothing  of 
the  game.  But  my  ears  were  sensitive  to  every  sound, 
and  when  a  great  roar  like  the  rush  of  many  waters 
swelled  around  me,  it  was  a  comfort  to  hear  one  chord 
like  a  blessed  refrain  —  "  He's  all  right  !  Nothing  the 
matter  with  Joe  !  " 

Deacon  Thaddeus  insisted  that  I  stood  on  the  back  of 
the  seat  and  swung  my  bonnet  at  the  crisis  ;  but  under 
strong  temptation  even  that  good  man  has  been  known 
to  make  statements  that  he  would  not  dare  take  oath  to. 

Philip  cared  nothing  for  athletics,  nor  was  he  as 
scholarly  as  I  could  have  wished.  But  he  flashed  at 
things,  and  was  apt  to  be  brilliant  unexpectedly. 

I  had  hoped  the  wise-fool-year  would  not  make  an 
especial  mark  upon  my  boy  ;  but  if  it  had  not  been  for 


102  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

Joe  he  would  scarcely  have  pulled  through.  These 
days  are  not  pleasant  to  look  back  upon,  when  my  only 
hope  was  that  ambition  would  ultimately  triumph  over 
the  temptations  that  \vere  dallied  with  and  that  threat- 
ened to  undermine  the  foundations  I  had  tried  to  lay. 

My  standard  had  once  been  set  far  higher  than  this, 
but  we  fall  to  levels  that  are  not  of  our  own  choosing. 

Philip's  was  u  a  mind  subject  to  invasions  —  a  soul 
that  had  its  vandals."  In  Joe's  face  shone  Vision ; 
in  Philip's  lurked  Success.  He  liked  to  see  life  and 
know  it  in  all  its  phases. 

O  Rachel  Timloe  !  forgive  me  for  daring  to  think  I 
could  take  care  of  your  boy  !  If  I  had  loved  him  like 
a  mother,  I  should  have  been  strong  enough  to  help 
him. 

It  was  Joe  who  watched  over  his  thankless  friend  so 
loyally  that  Philip  even  in  his  darkest  moods  could 
not  resent  it ;  and  presently  there  shone  a  little  streak 
of  dawn  in  the  east,  and  I  thanked  God  and  took 
courage. 

The  river  that  flows  from  South  Pond  swells  in  the 
springtime  and  washes  the  meadows,  leaviug  one  quiet 
little  shallow  that  reflects  the  sunshine  and  makes 
pictures  of  the  moving  clouds  and  waving  trees,  frin- 
ging its  circumference  with  green  like  my  mossy  cup  of 
a  well  that  is  never  dry.  By  dint  of  contracting  all  the 
summer  through  and  accepting  the  occasional  bounty  of 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  103 

rain  that  widens  its  borders  again,  the  shallow  contrives 
to  hold  over  until  the  river's  spring  overflow,  and  so 
year  after  year  its  small  life  is  preserved. 

It  does  very  little  good,  and  next  to  no  harm,  exist- 
ing only  by  favor  of  its  source. 

This  was  my  life  in  the  past.  Now  it  was  in  its  own 
right  a  river,  tormented  by  sharp  stones,  rippled  by 
pebbles,  turned  aside  from  its  chosen  course,  wasting 
itself  and  again  gathering  up  its  forces  but  always  broad- 
ening towards  the  harbor.  And  often  as  I  waked  at 
midnight  to  puzzle  over  problems  beyond  me,  the  dark- 
ness would  suddenly  fill  with  the  ripple  of  the  Brook 

Song. 

"  Sing  on  among  thy  stones,  and  secretly 
Tell  how  the  floods  are  all  akin  to  thee  ! " 


104 


A    SP1X UTAH'S   LEAFLETS 


XIV 

JUNIOII  PROMENADE,  which  is  to 
the  elect  the  very  rose-leaf  on  the 
rounded  cup  of  college  festivities, 
was  rather  more  to  me  this  year  than 
if  I  had  been  a  pretty,  invited  girl. 
Nothing  gives  edge  to  our 
pleasures  like  longing  for 
them  ;  and  in  my  youth  fes- 
tivities were  not  thrust  upon 
me.  It  is  better  to  long  and 
never  have  than  to  have  and 
never  long  —  a  truth  that  is 
not  apt  to  dawn  upon  us  in 
our  first  half-century.  So 

with  contented  George  Herbert  I  could  say,  "  Now  in 
my  age  I  bud  again ; "  since  to  chaperon  Jessie  was 
far  more  to  me  than  to  have  been  chaperoned  in  my 
youth. 

For  little  Jessie,  in  the  first  delicate  bloom  of  her 
girlhood,  was  going  to  a  famous  college  dance,  with  the 
added  joy  of  participating  in  it.  The  stupendousness 
of  the  undertaking,  down  to  the  last  minute  details, 


I 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  105 

was  not  apparent  on  the  surface  of  things.  "  For  the 
breeze  that  ruffles  the  stream  knows  not  the  depths 
below." 

It  had  been  solemn  work,  subtly  guarding  all  the 
approaches  to  the  fortress  that  must  be  undermined 
before  the  captive  could  be  set  free.  At  the  outset 
there  was  Mr.  Craig  to  be  won  over;  for  if  his  wife 
were  first  appealed  to,  she  would  weakly  fall  back  upon 
the  church,  and  I  should  front  a  solid  wall  with  no 
loophole  of  escape. 

Mr.  Craig  offered  the  line  of  least  resistance,  and  for 
weeks  I  planned  my  attack,  the  brightest  ideas  always 
coming  to  me  in  the  darkest  nights.  With  the  parson 
once  enlisted  on  my  side,  I  could  flaunt  my  flag  in  the 
very  face  of  the  church,  whose  commander-in-chief  had 
capitulated. 

The  process  by  which  the  mouse  gnawed  the  cable  in 
two  is  unpleasant  to  think  of,  but  it  forms  a  precedent. 
Strand  by  strand  my  cable  gave  way  ;  and  at  last  Jessie 
was  ready,  with  her  college  colors  and  her  simple  mull 
gown,  in  which  she  looked  like  a  picture-book  princess. 
This  was  to  be  a  grand  surprise  to  the  boys,  who  had 
provided  a  place  for  me,  but  who  doubtless  thought  me 
a  silly  old  woman  to  care  for  a  thing  like  this,  where  I 
could  only  sit  still  and  watch  a  crowd  of  strange  people. 
There  are  hidden  things  in  the  hearts  of  the  wisest  and 
best  of  us  that  would  surprise  and  possibly  horrify  our 
choicest  friends. 


KM}  .1    SPI.V  STEM'S   LEAFLETS 

When  the  carriage  came  for  me  at  an  old-fashioned 
boarding-house  a  mile  away.  Joe  sprang  out  of  it,  and 
up  the  long  steps  t\vo  at  a  time,  as  hilariously  as  if  I 
had  been  the  real  princess  in  disguise.  He  stood  before 
ns  dazed  for  a  moment,  but  when  his  mind  could  com- 
pass the  scheme  in  all  its  wiliness,  his  pride  and  joy 
knew  no  bounds.  We  were  "too  —  too  —  too  —  for 
airything  ! ''  Joe  was  not  apt  at  speechmaking  —  and 
lie  had  but  one  question  to  ask,  though  he  tried  it  in 
various  moods  and  tenses. 

"  Are  you  truly  going  to  dance,  Jessie  ?  "  — "  How 
came  they  ever  to  let  you  dance,  Jessie  ?  "  —  "  O  Jes- 
sie !  are  you  going  to  dance,  really?"  —  "If  you  do 
dance,  may  I  claim  you  first  ?  " 

The  child  was  quietly  pleased  with  Joe's  pleasure,  but 
I  could  see  that  she  was  looking  forward  to  Philip's 
greater  surprise  and  joy  when  he  saw  her  among  his 
own  friends.  I  felt  sure  that  she  would  be  shy  at  first 
among  so  many ;  but,  as  often  happened,  my  ideas  had 
to  be  reconstructed.  She  had  evidently  thought  herself 
over,  strengthened  her  dignity,  and  practised  her  steps 
in  the  seclusion  of  the  parsonage. 

Dancing  was  as  natural  to  her  as  is  flight  to  a  bird  : 
and  when  Joe,  very  red  in  the  face,  brought  her  back 
to  me  after  the  first  attempt,  she  smiled  as  demurely 
as  if  this  were  her  usual  way  of  spending  the  even- 
ing. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  107 

Joe  sought  out  his  very  best  friends  to  be  introduced, 
and  the  time  slipped  merrily  away.  Philip  had  not  yet 
paid  his  respects  to  me,  which  was  disappointing ;  but  I 
was  quite  willing  to  omit  the  ceremony  when  he  came 
in  sight  just  beyond  the  nearer  crowd,  making  his  way 
to  us  with  Alice  Lovell  on  his  arm.  She  was  smiling 
up  into  his  handsome  face  as  only  she  and  her  false- 
hearted mother  could  smile,  and  I  knew  that  the  curse 
had  fallen  upon  me. 

Jessie  turned  suddenly  to  Joe,  who  was  coming  back 
to  us  warm  and  beaming,  and  said,  — 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  me  to  dance  ?  " 

The  color  was  all  gone  from  her  face,  —  the  pretty 
color  that  became  her  so  well,  —  and  her  eyes  flashed. 

"Why  —  what's  the  matter?"  stammered  poor,  stupid 
Joe,  puzzled  through  all  the  intricacies  of  his  brain, 
and  trying  to  find  his  slow  way  out  of  the  maze.  "  I 
thought  you  said  you  didn't  want  to  dance." 

"I  didn't,  but  I  do!" 

Joe,  promptly  obedient,  offered  his  arm,  doing  as  he 
always  did,  the  first  thing  that  came  to  hand;  and  away 
they  went.  The  music  was  enchanting,  and  I  half  for- 
got in  listening  how  long  they  were  away.  When  they 
returned  Philip  wras  gone,  and  Jessie  insisted  that  it  was 
time  for  us  to  go  home. 

Joe  pleaded  in  vain  that  the  fun  was  only  beginning, 
and  that  she  ought  not  to  be  tired  at  midnight,  espe- 


108  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

cially  as  she  had  danced  so  little,  and  lots  of  the  very 
nicest  fellows  were  waiting  to  be  presented. 

But  Jessie's  mind,  once  made  up,  was  like  a  package 
stamped  and  sealed ;  and  she  had  not  yet  learned  to 
submit  her  own  will  to  that  of  others.  Her  time  was 
coining,  but  it  was  not  yet.  For  neither  nature  nor 
grace  ever  left  a  character  like  hers  to  take  its  own 
stormy  way  unrebuked.  I,  too,  had  stayed  long  enough, 
and  did  not  oppose  her.  A  little  of  the  ignominy  of 
defeat  made  the  atmosphere  oppressive,  and  our  drive 
was  a  silent  one. 

The  revelations  that  afflict  us  ancient  people  are  like 
wounds  that  do  not  heal  by  first  intention.  Our  anti- 
septics are  out  of  reach,  and  we  must  get  on  as  best  we 
can. 

These  were  only  children,  Philip  and  Jessie,  yet  they 
were  playing  the  intricate  game  of  life  with  the  assur- 
ance of  full-grown  people.  It  was  absurd.  And  then  I 
asked  leave  of  the  years  to  go  back  to  my  youth  and  be 
a  child  again  —  just  such  a  child  as  I  had  been  in  my 
brief  boarding-school  days,  when  the  light  that  never 
was  made  an  improbable  world  for  me,  peopled  by  im- 
possible humanity.  I  well  remember  at  our  last  recep- 
tion the  moon  that  shone  as  no  moon  has  ever  dared 
shine  since;  the  roses  that  hung  heavy  with  dew,  and  a 
fragrance  that  belonged  only  to  the  night.  We  filled 
the  veranda,  a  group  of  light-hearted  girls,  and  tossed 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  109 

the  roses  to  the  men  —  why,  they  were  only  lads:  —  and 
leaned  in  at  the  windows  to  catch  the  words  that  floated 
out  to  meet  us  from  the  lips  of  the  sweetest  and  sub- 
tlest singer,  and  did  not  stop  to  ask  what  charm  held  so 
many  in  bondage,  for  were  we  not  all  in  love  with  her, 
the  girl  who  could  read  all  our  simple  hearts? 

It  was  a  sad  song,  all  about  love  and  death,  and  we 
thought  we  understood  what  they  were,  children  like  us 
who  stood  outside  of  life  and  leaned  in  towards  it  as  we 
leaned  in  at  the  windows,  but  left  our  young,  careless 
hearts  outside ! 

How  much  older  was  I  than  Jessie  when  I  stood  on 
the  steps  a  little  removed  from  the  others,  and  said 
good-by  to  one  I  was  never  to  see  again?  God  be 
thanked  that  childhood  has  no  second  sight,  else  hearts 
would  break  at  once  and  be  done  with  it. 

Yes,  we  were  ridiculously  young,  and  it  was  all  very 
foolish  and  should  not  have  been  allowed;  but  the 
strands  of  folly  glitter  all  along  the  dull  gray  warp  and 
woof  of  life,  and  so  we  lift  it  up  against  the  sun,  and 
let  it  catch  the  glory  instead  of  spreading  it  under  foot,, 

"  We  walk  this  way  but  once,  friend  —  hush  !  " 

It  was  good  to  be  at  home  again,  to  lay  away  the 
carefully  prepared  garments  with  sprigs  of  lavender  in 
their  folds,  to  take  up  homely  duties  that  were  emptied 
of  all  pleasure. 


110  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

The  gilt  edge  of  the  new  life  was  a  little  tarnished  al- 
ready, but  we  would  not  stop  to  rub  it  up.  As  for  the 
keen  sense  of  disappointment,  time  would  dull  that  too, 
and  we  must  be  patient.  Age  has  always  that  resource. 
But  the  child  Jessie?  Her  horizon  was  but  a  hand- 
breadth  away,  yet  it  shut  out  much  that  I  must  face, 
and  her  trouble  was  not  infinite.  A  barrier  was  grow- 
ing up  between  us.  I  could  not  tell  her  the  history  of 
Alice  Lovell's  mother,  or  let  her  into  the  stifling,  dark 
closet  of  my  fears,  out  of  which  I  myself  could  not  find 
a  way  to  light  and  air. 

I  could  only  tell  Philip  —  but  what  could  I  tell 
Philip?  I  saw  in  the  girl  something  of  her  mother's 
cajolery,  much  of  her  insistent  beauty,  her  vampire  ab- 
sorption of  the  strength  and  devotion  of  her  victims. 
But  Philip's  eyes  were  not  my  eyes.  Must  he  too  learn 
by  living  that  which  I  would  give  my  fragment  of  life 
to  save  him  from? 

What  would  a  mother  do  ? 

When  I  awoke  suddenly  in  the  night  the  words  came 
to  me  as  if  they  were  a  part  of  my  sleeping  conscious- 
ness, lying  in  wait  to  perplex  and  baffle  my  burdened 
soul. 

What  would  a  mother  do? 


A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 


111 


XV 

JUST  now  our  small  boys  were  in 
knickerbockers.  We  left  them  in  the 
back  yard  with  tops  and  marbles,  and 
turned  around  to  see  them  marching 
off  the  stage  in  dress  suits  on  Com- 
mencement Day,  carrying  their  di- 
plomas with  them.  Life  loitered  in 
the  days  when  I  was  young,  and  was  not  in  such 
indecorous  haste  to  make  up  its  accounts. 

Neither  of  the  boys  had  a  high  stand  in  college,  but 
Joe  did  his  best  and  knew  what  was  to  come  next. 
From  the  days  when  he  dissected  woodchucks  and 
stuffed  owls  he  had  purposed  to  be  a  surgeon  ;  and 
never  was  better  choice  made  by  a  boy,  or  one  more 
satisfactory  to  us  all.  For  he  still  belonged  to  a  com- 
posite family,  made  up  of  the  original  stem  and  one 
alien,  dry  branch  ;  and  I  should  claim  a  share  in  him  as 
long  as  I  lived  —  perhaps  longer. 

Philip  could  not  decide  what  to  do,  but  thought  a 
year  abroad  might  help  him.  There  was  no  eagerness 
in  his  preparation  for  the  trip,  no  light  in  his  eyes  when 
we  talked  it  over.  He  did  not  even  know  what  direc- 


112  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

tion  lie  might  take  from  Liverpool.  It  was  incompre- 
hensible to  me. 

"  Whv,  Phil,  old  boy,  you  don't  care  half  so  much 
about  it  as  I  do,"  Joe  would  say.  '4  It's  better  to  me 
than  if  I  could  go  myself ;  and  I  lie  awake  nights 
trying  to  think  of  more  jolly  things  for  you  to  do.  I 
don't  believe  you've  half  wroke  up  to  it  yet.  What's 
the  matter,  anyway  ?  '' 

And  Philip  would  answer  guardedly,  ''  It's  easier  to 
fall  four  feet  than  forty.  You  climb  so  high  that  there 
won't  be  anything  left  of  you  when  the  limb  breaks." 

I  would  gladly  have  risked  the  fall  if  it  had  been  in 
my  boy  to  climb  a  little  higher.  Dead  levels  may  be 
safe,  but  they  are  terribly  monotonous. 

The  night  Philip  left,  when  everything  was  packed 
and  strapped,  and  I  began  to  dread  the  wordless  hour 
of  waiting  when  one's  mind  is  blank,  he  drew  my  chair 
to  the  fire,  for  it  was  a  rainy  September  evening,  turned 
down  the  lamp,  and  came  and  stood  behind  me.  A 
great  and  unreasonable  fear  took  possession  of  me,  and 
I  grasped  the  chair-arms  as  if  they  had  been  strong 
human  hands. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  something  before  I  go  —  perhaps 
never  to  come  back,"  the  boy  said  in  a  low,  hard  tone. 
u  My  life  breaks  short  off  here,  and  I  sha'n't  trouble 
you  any  more.  Don't  stop  me;  I  must  speak  now.  ;md 
you'll  have  to  hear  me.  You  did  the  best  you  could  for 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  113 

me  when  I  was  a  little  fellow,  and  I  hope  you'll  have 
your  reward,  though  you'd  have  done  better  if  you  had 
left  me  to  die  on  your  doorstep.  Nobody  had  tried  to 
love  me  before,  and  my  training  spoiled  my  faith  in 
humanity.  I  never  could  be  a  boy  like  other  boys.  I 
hated  to  be  watched.  I  hated  to  be  kept  in  like  a 
girl.  I  hated  to  be  nagged  at.  I  hated  the  clothes  I 
wore. 

"  I  was  humiliated  every  day  of  my  life,  but  nobody 
guessed  it  —  not  even  my  heavenly-minded  grandfather, 
who  would  have  loved  me  if  he'd  known  how.  The 
boys  made  fun  of  me,  and  they'd  a  right  to;  but  it 
made  me  hate  them.  They  couldn't  guess  how  it  hurt ; 
but  boys  are  cruel  animals,  anyway.  I  doubted  every- 
body's motives,  even  yours  and  Joe's.  Your  taking  me 
was  a  thankless  job,  and  now  you  must  just  wash  your 
hands  of  me  and  let  me  go,  and  be  satisfied  if  I  don't 
carry  off  your  silver.  No,  don't  try  to  speak !  Let  me 
have  my  say  this  time ;  it  won't  take  long.  I  knoAV 
what  a  fool  I've  been ;  how  I've  squandered  your 
money,  and  wasted  my  life,  and  lost  my  soul,  if  I  ever 
had  one.  I  know  how  I  drank  and  gambled,  like  the 
cur  I  was,  though  I  did  keep  my  promise  about  smok- 
ing ;  but  I  truly  hoped  to  pay  back  a  little  of  what  I 
owed  you  when  I'd  seen  enough  of  life.  No  —  don't 
say  you  won't  have  it.  You  shall  have  it !  That's  all 
I  happen  to  be  living  for  just  now,  and  if  you  care  to 


114  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

keep  me  alive  just  let  me  go  my  own  way.  There's  a 
little  decency  left  in  me,  I  suppose,  because  I  want  to 
be  honest  at  last.  Are  you  listening?  " 

Was  I  listening,  indeed  ! 

"  In  April  I  was  married  to  Alice  Lovell.  To-day  I 
was  to  claim  her.  Of  course  it  was  like  the  fool  I  am 
to  run  the  risk  of  being  expelled  from  college,  but  I 
wanted  to  make  sure  of  her.  She  might  have  had  her 
pick  of  a  dozen  better  men,  but  I  believed  every  word 
she  said.  It  was  Bible  truth  to  me,  and  sacred.  We 
had  a  great  secret  to  keep,  but  she  was  out  of  town, 
travelling  most  of  the  time  Once  or  twice  we  met  on 
the  street  like  ordinary  acquaintances.  Last  month  she 
married  that  blackguard  Moorehouse,  a  man  we  all  cut 
on  the  street  —  even  I.  There  have  been  things  to 
think  of  that  took  the  romance  out  of  my  trip  —  blasted 
it  out. 

"  They  were  married  in  church,  with  flowers  and 
bridesmaids,  and  tilings  of  that  sort,  and  prayers,  too  — 
anything  to  be  religious  —  and  he  and  his  fortune  have 
gone  abroad  with  her.  You  warned  me  ;  but  you  were 
you  and  she  was  she.  I  remember  you  used  to  put  the 
moths  out  at  the  window  when  they  flew  around  the 
lamp,  but  they  always  came  back  to  singe  their  wings. 
It  was  just  as  good  of  you,  but  it  didn't  save  them. 
And  you  couldn't  know  anything  about  Alice. 

"  It  was  not  a  clergyman  who  married  us,  but  a  good 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  115 

i 

friend  of  her  own  who  enjoyed  the  joke.     May  Heaven 

reward  her  !  " 

The  tone  of  his  voice  had  not  changed  from  first  to 
last.  There  was  not  even  a  trace  of  resentment  in  it. 
The  flame  of  life  had  dropped  out  to  ashes  so  soon ; 
the  infinite  pity  of  it !  The  boat  had  stranded  with 
all  sails  set. 

My  hands  were  rigid  on  the  chair  arms.  The  fire  had 
flickered  down  to  embers. 

"  Now,  Philip,"  I  said,  and  I  set  my  teeth  to  steady 
my  voice,  "•  you  must  hear  me.  I  am  not  going  to 
begin  away  back  when  I  took  you  for  my  very  own  and 
prayed  God  to  give  you  a  happy  life.  Let  all  that  go. 
But  I  want  to  tell  you  that  there  was  a  time  when  I 
too  was  young. 

"  The  mother  of  your  Alice  took  from  me  all  that 
made  happiness  possible,  and  then  broke  the  heart  her 
falsehood  had  wiled  away  from  me.  If  her  career  had 
only  ended  there,  my  poor  boy !  But  after  years  of 
wandering  as  an  actress,  she  married  an  old  man,  spent 
his  fortune,  and  left  him  with  this  child  who  is  trying 
to  follow  in  her  accursed  footsteps." 

Philip  started.  He  was  not  used  to  such  words 
from  me. 

"  Is  she  dead  ? "  he  asked  without  a  shadow  of 
interest. 

"  She  was  living  two  years  ago." 


116  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

Carriage-wheels  stopped  at  the  gate ;  the  steamer- 
trunk  \vas  curried  out.  He  picked  up  his  bag,  looked 
at  the  room,  the  dying  fire,  the  yellow-haired  baby  on 
the  mantel,  but  not  at  me.  Was  his  mind  travelling 
over  the  way  he  had  come,  but  by  which  he  could  never 
return  ? 

"  Oh,  my  boy,  my  boy !  how  can  1  let  you  go  ?  " 

"Don't  give  me  a  thought,"  he  said.  "  I'm  not  worth 
it.  Good-by." 

I  held  his  cold  hand,  and  looked  into  the  dear  face  I 
had  loved  so  long  and  so  well,  but  there  was  no  answer- 
ing sign  of  love  in  it.  The  door  shut  with  a  jar;  there 
was  a  pause  :  then  the  wheels  grated  as  they  turned, 
and  I  listened  till  the  last  sound  died  out  and  left  me 
alone  in  a  dark,  cold  world.  Then  I  resolutely  re- 
kindled my  fire  and  drew  my  lonely  chair  close  before 
it,  for  I  was  shivering  from  head  to  foot.  I  thought 
I  was  dying,  and  for  one  selfish  moment  it  was  a  wel- 
come thought.  I  had  yet  to  learu  that  grief  does  not 
kill. 

When  Mary  the  mother  of  our  Lord  saw  her  Son  on 
the  cross,  then  and  not  until  then  did  she  suffer  the 
pangs  of  motherhood.  So  says  the  legend,  and  I  like 
to  think  it  true.  In  that  night  of  my  long  agony, 
wrestling  alone  with  myself,  I  went  down  into  the 
deepest  depths  that  my  humanity  can  fathom.  When 
morning  broke  the  struggle  was  over  only  because  I 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  117 

could  endure  no  more.  Why  had  I  not  prayed  to  be 
delivered  from  this  night  ?  And  then,  for  the  first  time 
in  my  long  life  did  I  realize  my  own  ideal  of  mother- 
hood. From  those  awful  depths  I  brought  back  some- 
thing—  God  alone  knows  what,  for  my  brain  was  weak 
and  sore ;  but  it  was  something  that  kept  me  alive. 

Jessie  was  with  me  for  weeks,  and  Joe  came  when- 
ever he  could  spare  time  from  his  work.  Good  Deacon 
Thaddeus  and  his  wife  would  have  me  go  home  with 
them,  and  felt  it  sorely  when  I  refused.  But  there  was 
never  an  evening  when  I  did  not  set  a  light  in  the 
window ;  never  a  winter  night  so  cold  that  my  fire  did 
not  burn  brightly  with  my  curtains  wide  open,  a  silent 
welcome  for  the  wanderer  who  might  come  back.  He 
could  see  the  glow  for  a  long  way  down  the  road,  and 
it  is  not  in  human  nature  to  turn  away  from  such  an 
appeal. 

Sometimes  as  I  was  feeling  my  blind  way  slowly 
back  to  life.  Miss  Mercy  Jane  would  bring  her  knitting- 
work  and  sit  down  beside  me,  trying  to  comfort  me  in 
an  old-fashioned  way.  If  I  would  only  boil  up  strength- 
ening things  and  take  them  regular,  no  matter  if  I  didn't 
care  for  victuals,  I  shouldn't  feel  so  bad.  I  was  more 
than  welcome  to  the  spring  bitters  pa  left.  There  was 
all  of  half  a  bottle  on  the  kitchen  shelf,  and  a  great 
spoonful  before  eating  made  him  feel  real  spry,  and  just 
as  hungry  as  a  badger.  But  when  I  asked  how  hungry 


118  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

a  badger  was,  she  had  to  confess  that  she  really  didn't 
know ;  pa  used  to  say  so ;  and  she  judged  by  his  appe- 
tite that  it  must  have  been  pretty  poor  and  skimpy, 
whatever  a  badger  was,  till  somebody  fed  it. 

When  the  badger  subject  was  ended  for  want  of 
further  knowledge,  she  returned  to  the  boy  subject, 
which  might  have  suggested  itself  in  that  connection. 
If  pa  had  said  it  once,  he  had  said  it  as  much  as  twenty 
times,  that  'twas  no  use  women's  trying  to  bring  up 
boys.  They  generally  went  to  the  bad,  and  no  thanks 
to  anybody  but  themselves.  Give  'em  rope  enough  and 
they'd  manage  to  swing  themselves.  Keep  'em  to  work, 
and  like  as  not  they'd  run  away  to  sea  where  nobody 
knew  what  they  had  to  eat,  and  as  for  drink,  they  had 
to  take  grog  because  the  water  was  so  salty  that  if  they 
tried  to  make  tea  with  it  the  kettle  was  rusted  out  in 
no  time.  So  she  had  heard  tell ;  and  it  wasn't  strange 
if  they  did  come  back  drinking  men.  If  it  wasn't 
wicked  to  say  so,  it  did  seem  as  if  the  Lord  would  have 
thought  of  that  when  he  put  the  salt  in. 

Mercy  Jane  would  muse  on  her  ideas  as  if  they  were 
a  source  of  light  and  comfort  to  her;  but  in  time 
the  subject  that  suggested  them  would  return  in  full 
force,  and  often  with  more  aggressiveness  than  at  first. 
Human  nature  was  mighty  unreliable  stuff,  and  it  was 
a  mercy  that  any  of  us  had  been  kept  from  state's 
prison.  There  was  Jack  Vann,  now,  working  on  the 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  119 

road  out  West  with  a  chain  gang,  which  must  be  pretty 
bad  and  considerable  humbling  to  the  Vann  pride. 

When  I  added  that  he  got  fresh  air,  which  he 
couldn't  have  in  a  cell,  and  that  it  probably  gave  him 
an  appetite  without  any  need  of  bitters,  Mercy  Jane 
looked  over  her  spectacles  at  me  as  if  she  suspected 
that  I  was  wandering  in  my  mind,  and  repeated  her 
proposition  that  the  family  pride  must  be  humbled. 

But  though  I  knew  better,  it  was  not  for  me  to  gain- 
say her. 

Jack  Vann  had  taken  pains  all  along  that  none  of  his 
family  should  commit  the  sin  of  pride  on  his  account. 

The  Squire  did  not  feel  it  his  duty  to  call  upon  me, 
which  omission  I  set  down  on  my  mental  list  of  things 
to  be  thankful  for.  But  Mrs.  Vann  often  ran  in  to  ask 
in  a  lively  way  what  I  heard  from  that  boy,  and  to 
suggest  various  unpleasant  things  that  might  easily 
have  happened  to  him. 

She  was  sorry  to  say  that  she  had  one  black  sheep, 
and  could  S3rmpathize  with  me ;  but  when  you  hadn't 
any  more,  black  or  white,  you  was  apt  to  take  it  hard. 
She  didn't  find  out  for  quite  a  spell  as  anything  was 
wrong,  but  by  asking  'round  she  heard  that  it  was  quite 
common  talk  down  to  The  Corners,  so  'twasn't  any 
harm  to  speak  to  me  about  it.  It  was  not  the  first  time 
that  I  had  been  cordially  invited  to  tell  all  I  knew  or 
guessed  about  my  dear  wanderer,  but  on  this  particular 


120  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

evening  it  proved  to  be  the  last,  for  Jessie,  who  was 
providentially  at  hand,  opened  the  door.  If  it  had 
been  I,  Mrs.  Vann  would  have  ignored  it ;  but  Jessie's 
eyes  had  a  compelling  way,  and  the  Squire's  wife  rose 
before  the  light  of  them  as  hurriedly  as  if  her  husband 
had  given  the  word  to  forward  march. 

"  If  that  woman  comes  here  again,"  said  Jessie,  with 
her  back  against  the  door,  u  I'll  sweep  her  out  with  the 
broom ! " 

Nor  could  I  for  a  long  time  make  the  child  under- 
stand that  these  bitter  things  were  my  only  available 
tonics,  and  that  I  came  to  myself  far  sooner  than  if  my 
blood  had  not  been  stirred.  Sometimes  the  victim  of 
narcotic  poison  has  to  be  whipped  back  to  life,  however 
much  his  friends  may  cry  out  against  the  inhumanity  of 
the  process. 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  121 


XVI 

THE  reconstruction  of  a  life  is  neces- 
sarily a  slow  and  tedious  process.  He 
who  makes  over  an  old  house,  even, 
knows  what  an  unreasonable  time  it 
takes  the  plaster  to  dry,  and  how  each 
workman  interferes  with  every  other  one,  putting  back 
the  work  and  breaking  into  that  already  done,  so  that 
the  simplest  things  have  to  be  gone  over  and  over 
again,  until  he  repents  him  of  the  undertaking,  and 
wishes  he  had  been  content  with  the  old  house  as  it 
was. 

My  life  was  simple  enough  till  I  began  its  reconstruc- 
tion with  something  far  more  intricate  than  wood  and 
plaster.  Just  at  present  its  complexity  was  something 
awful  to  think  of.  It  was  not  a  choice  now  of  old 
house  or  new.  One  does  not  question  a  cyclone  that 
has  taken  shape  as  to  its  mission.  Does  a  tree  struggle 
against  its  growth,  I  wonder?  Would  it  choose  to  be  a 
sapling  always,  bowing  to  every  breeze  and  recovering 
again,  sung  to  by  birds  but  never  offering  branches  for 
them  to  nest  in  ?  Does  the  bark  creak  with  the  inner 
strain  when  the  sap  goes  up  mightily  at  the  urgent 


122  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

call  of  springtime,  forcing  it  to  make  room  and  more 
room  ? 

God  had  given  me  the  desire  of  my  heart,  as  he  gave 
food  to  his  people  in  the  wilderness;  but  would  he 
therefore  send  leanness  into  my  soul? 

I  seemed  to  feel  only  the  dust  of  the  great  world  as 
it  roared  by  and  left  me  for  dead  on  a  contemptible 
battle-field.  Why  had  I  not  been  content  with  my  own 
happy  life,  momentous  to  me,  and  saved  in  its  serene- 
ness  from  the  wear  and  tear  of  years  ? 

But  I  deliberately  chose  my  own  discipline.  Heaven 
did  not  inflict  it.  Was  I  punished  for  craving  that 
which  did  not  belong  to  me  ?  No  answer. 

In  the  dull  hours  when  vitality  was  lowest  and  the 
earth  sank  slowly  beneath  my  feet  as  if  it  had  been 
unstable  as  water,  the  words,  "  He  that  saveth  his  life 
shall  lose  it,"  came  back  like  something  heard  ages  ago 
under  similar  circumstances  and  forgotten.  With  a 
great  rushing  sound  and  momentary  oblivion  they 
surged  through  my  tired  brain  in  a  high,  shrill  key, 
and  left  me  like  a  rag  of  seaweed  cast  up  on  a  barren 
shore. 

In  those  days  I  would  forget  for  a  moment  that  Jessie 
was  with  me,  and  talk  aloud  as  simply  as  Mercy  Jane 
herself.  We  could  not  speak  of  Philip  at  first,  though 
afterwards  he  was  our  one  theme.  But  from  some  wan- 
dering word  Jessie  caught  the  idea  that  tidings  from 


A   SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  123 

him  might  save  my  life  ;  so  of  her  own  accord  she  wrote 
to  his  bankers,  and  in  due  time  heard  that  he  was  still 
in  London. 

Until  this  time  my  mind  had  no  pivot,  but  upon  this 
small  point  it  concentrated,  and  my  working  theory 
started.  The  boy  was  doing  something ;  he  had  some 
reason  for  his  silence. 

Then  my  old-time  theories  came  to  my  aid,  and  were 
to  me  what  the  legendary  straw  is  to  the  drowning 
man.  Though  my  dear  Philip  has  disproved  them  all, 
I  would  still  catch  at  them  and  hold  on  by  sheer  force 
of  habit.  And  then  I  began  to  reason  that  the  boy 
might  have  done  worse.  The  pity  of  it  that  this  should 
be  our  consolation,  when  the  years  are  spent,  the  seed 
sown,  the  insolent  crop  of  tares  ready  to  blossom !  And 
then,  with  reason  beginning  to  adjust  itself  once  more, 
I  fell  so  low  as  to  complain.  What  could  I  have  done 
more  to  my  vineyard  that  I  have  not  done  in  it? 
Wherefore,  when  I  looked  that  it  should  bring  forth 
grapes,  brought  it  forth  wild  grapes?  O  Prophet  of 
the  Highest !  our  little  human  cry  for  our  own  in  these 
latter  days  is  as  bitter  as  was  your  mighty  wail  for  a 
nation  when  the  world  was  young. 

My  boy  was  not  born  to  me ;  it  was  I  who  was  born 
to  him,  by  every  holy  tie  a  mother,  with  the  love  all  011 
my  side.  Whatever  his  future  might  be,  that  way  my 
life  lay ;  and  so  out  of  the  heart  of  the  darkness  I  took 


124  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

courage,  expecting  nothing,  asking  only  for  strength  to 
do  my  part.  If  I  had  known  by  ever  so  small  a  sign 
that  Philip  loved  me,  it  would  have  been  a  sure  clew 
in  my  feeble  hands  to  lead  me  back  to  life.  But  I 
struggled  back  by  an  unknown  way  ;  and  when  my 
gnarly  apple-tree  blossomed  again  and  Jessie  set  my 
chair  under  its  shadow  and  led  me  to  it,  I  knew  that 
life  was  on  its  way  once  more,  because  I  rebelled  at 
second  childhood.  My  world  was  turning  towards  the 
sunrise  again  :  somewhat  heavily,  to  be  sure,  and  with 
shuddering  pauses.  I  had  risen  high  enough  already  to 
speculate  about  my  breakfast,  and  even  at  times  to  feel 
a  human  interest  in  my  neighbors'  affairs.  The  very 
day  that  my  apple-tree  seemed  to  blossom  just  for  me 
came  a  cablegram  from  Philip  which  made  the  sea  no 
wider  than  South  Pond  where  it  becomes  a  river  again. 
If  it  had  been  a  letter ! 

"•  But  oh,  dear  Unreasonable,"  whispered  Jessie  at 
my  elbow,  "  what  if  it  hadn't  been  anything  !  " 

It  was  the  same  dear  child  grown  wise  through  love 
and  sympathy,  who  brought  out  my  small  round  table, 
and  set  the  pink-and-gilt  sprigged  china  011  it,  with  the 
Mayflower  tea-caddy  and  the  tall  decanter  of  Madeira 
that  had  been  ripening  for  a  lifetime.  As  she  made  the 
tea  and  set  the  cup  before  me  with  one  of  my  own 
mother's  spoons  worn  on  the  right  side  of  the  bowl,  I 
said : 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  125 

"  These  shall  be  yours,  dear  child,  when  I'm  gone ; 
these  spoons,  and  the  tea-caddy,  and  the  little  cups  with 
their  elbows  out." 

"  Indeed,"  said  Jessie  hotly,  and  her  fingers  trembled 
as  she  fastened  a  spray  of  apple-buds  to  my  gown  — 
"  indeed,  you're  not  going  anywhere ;  and  as  for 
Philip's  things,  I  won't  touch  one  of  them  if  you  go 
this  minute !  " 

And  that  is  how  we  began  to  talk  about  him.  Jessie 
insisted  that  we  should  hear  from  him  before  long ;  that 
he  would  write  as  soon  as  he  had  something  special  to 
tell. 

For  she  knew  there  was  something  special,  or  he 
couldn't  have  kept  still  so  long.  There  wasn't  the 
least  thing  strange  about  it,  and  if  it  wasn't  too  rude 
she  should  say  that  I  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  spend  my 
time  imagining  things.  Then  she  struck  another  vein. 
Very  likely  the  Queen  had  sent  for  him  and  begged  him 
not  to  leave  London,  because  nobody  over  there  could 
ever  look 'like  him,  and  they  needed  ornamental  people 
at  court  to  keep  their  courage  up.  She  had  doubtless 
offered  him  a  star  and  a  garter,  and  he  might  be  declin- 
ing with  thanks  at  this  very  minute.  "  I  know  you 
think  so  yourself,"  she  added,  "for  you  are  actually 
smiling  with  proper  pride  at  last,  in  your  democrat." 

Mr.  Craig  said  I  might  as  well  adopt  Jessie  out  and 
out  for  all  the  claim  they  seemed  to  have  on  her,  but 


126  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

demurred  when  I  spoke  of  drawing  up  the  papers  on 
the  spot. 

Joe  had  no  vacation  this  summer,  and  hospital  work 
kept  him  busy  seven  days  in  the  week  —  eight,  the 
deacon  said,  who  could  not  be  reconciled  to  the  long 
separation,  and  at  last  found  it  necessary  to  go  to  town 
in  the  midst  of  haying. 

He  came  home  so  brimful  of  new  ideas  about  opera- 
tions and  antiseptics,  and  Joe's  using  a  sharp  knife  that 
had  a  sort  of  scalping  name,  and  never  flinching  any 
more  than  if  it  had  just  been  a  razor  on  his  own  face, 
that  Mrs.  Thaddeus  said  he  woke  her  in  the  middle  of 
the  night  to  tell  how  he  shivered  when  he  heard  that 
thing  cut  right  into  a  man's  flesh  just  like  ripping 
a  piece  of  cotton  cloth,  and  Joe  never  so  much  as 
winked.  If  pride  could  kill  a  man  like  its  physical 
symbol,  dropsy,  the  good  deacon  must  have  died  before 
morning. 

Mrs.  Vann  chose  her  moments  with  discretion,  and 
looked  in  to  let  me  know  that  she  was  not  affronted 
whenever  Jessie  was  away,  which  was  seldom.  It  made 
me  laugh  all  by  myself  when  she  was  gone  to  see  her 
afraid  of  a  child  who  was  less  than  half  her  size  and 
barely  a  third  of  her  age. 

She  had  always  something  to  say  about  her  boys,  who 
had  been  frightened  into  obedience,  and  saved  from 
destruction,  apparently,  by  the  loss  of  one.  The  Presi- 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  127 

dent  of  the  Home  Missionary  Society  wiped  away  a 
natural  tear  now  and  then  when  there  was  time  before 
Jessie  appeared,  and  didn't  know  whatever  would  become 
of  Jack,  for  Ids  father  never'd  have  him  home  again 
amongst  the  other  boys,  even  if  he  did  come  back  some 
time  ;  which  no  doubt  gave  her  a  certain  sense  of  relief 
by  shifting  the  responsibility. 

Her  grief  was  never  so  profound  that  she  could  not 
discuss  it  with  any  one  who  would  listen,  from  the 
church  porch  to  the  kitchen  door ;  and  I  doubt,  there- 
fore, if  it  yielded  her  any  of  the  peaceable  fruits  of 
righteousness  which  are  the  satisfactory  crop  of  seed 
sown  in  love  and  humbleness. 

Miss  Mercy  Jane  brought  me  not  only  spring  bitters, 
but  a  great  spoon  as  well,  lest  mine  should  be  skimpy 
in  the  measure,  and  stood  by  to  see  that  I  took  every 
poured-out  drop. 

So  when  the  apple-tree  began  to  have  daily  charms 
for  me,  and  I  could  raise  myself  with  no  help  but  that 
of  the  chair  arms,  she  declared  to  goodness  that  it  was 
nothing  short  of  a  meracle,  and  had  ought  to  be  put 
into  the  paper.  She  even  suggested  that  my  picture 
wouldn't  look  bad  along  with  it ;  but  I  turned  a  deaf 
ear  to  such  wholesale  flattery,  and  the  bitters  did  their 
duty  like  the  beneficent  forces  of  nature,  without  the 
aid  of  trumpet  or  shawm  or  pictorial  illumination. 


128 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 


XVII 

ABOUT  this  time  Philip  began  to 
write  to  Joe.  I  suspect  that  Jessie 
prompted  Joe  to  let  him  know  of 
mv  illness  and  its  cause.  But  if  my 
guessing  is  true, 
the  secret  was  well 
kept.  The  letters 
were  mere  notes, 
saying  that  he 
wanted  to  hear 
from  home  very  often,  that  he  was 
well,  and  hard  at  work.  They 
always  closed  with  "  love  to  my  dear,"  a  name  he  had 
never  called  me  by,  but  which  was  mine  from  this 
time  onward.  In  his  childhood  I  was  never  named. 
Chary  of  speech  from  the  first,  he  said  briefly  what  he 
had  to  say  as  if  he  were  thinking  aloud. 

It  was  three  years  from  the  time  he  went  away  before 
my  letter  came  —  the  letter  that  I  had  expected  with 
confidence  summer  and  winter  since  I  knew  that  he  had 
not  forgotten  his  old  home.  There  was  so  much  in  it 
touching  me,  so  much  that  blinded  and  choked  me,  that 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  129 

I  hesitate  about  writing  it  down  here.  But  the  more  I 
think  of  it  the  clearer  it  is  to  me  that  in  no  other  way 
can  things  be  made  to  appear  in  their  true  light.  It 
must  be  borne  in  mind  all  along  that  my  dear  boy  could 
never  know  what  real  mother-love  is,  his  own  mother 
dying  so  young. 

The  letter  shames  me  for  every  disloyal  thought  of 
him,  and  humbles  me  with  a  sense  of  my  deep  unworthi- 
ness  in  ever  questioning  the  fact  that  what  we  most 
earnestly  desire  of  best  things  shall  be  ours  if  we  can 
only  wait  long  enough.  But  it  shows  that  he  really 
looked  upon  me  as  a  mother,  and  like  one's  own  child 
refused  to  see  flaws  that  are  patent  to  every  one  else. 

Here  is  the  letter  word  for  word  as  it  came  to  me  on 
a  Wednesday,  the  fifteenth  day  of  May,  at  ten  minutes 
past  six  o'clock,  while  I  was  sitting  at  my  tea-table :  — 

"MY  BLESSED,  MORE  THAN  MOTHER:  There  are  no  words  of 
mine  that  can  tell  you  all  I  want  to  say.  The  past  is  past.  I  am 
trying  to  forget  all  the  meanness  and  wickedness  of  it,  but  I  can't 
ask  you  to  do  the  same.  Only  try  to  believe  in  me  a  little,  and  I  will 
try  hard  to  prove  what  I  want  you  to  believe  by  my  life. 

"It's  of  no  use  to  tell  you  how  I  felt  that  night.  You  couldn't 
believe  it  if  I  did.  I  had  to  keep  it  all  in  —  the  hell  that  was  raging 
inside.  It  was  hold  on  or  go  mad.  You  can't  know  how  a  man  feels 
—  for  I  was  a  man  full  grown,  with  more  pride  than  any  man  ought 
to  have  —  to  be  made  a  laughing-stock  by  his  classmates,  to  have  his 
name  stand  for  all  that  is  weak  and  contemptible.  Let  it  pass.  It 
is  too  soon  to  write  about  that.  Joe  always  stood  by  me  through 
thick  and  thin.  There  were  times  when  I  hated  him  for  it  and  tried 


130  A   SPIXSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

to  shake  him  off.  1  never  can  forget  iu  this  world  or  the  next  what 
he  has  heen  to  me. 

••As  for  //cr  —  she  passed  entirely  out  of  my  life  then.  I  was 
almost  sorry  for  Moorehouse  when  I  heard  of  them  in  Florence,  and 
knew  what  a  life  she  was  leading  him.  lie  did  care  for  her,  or  he 
wouldn't  have  blown  his  brains  out  when  she  left  him.  In  a  year 
she  too  was  gone  to  her  judgment.  I  put  her  out  of  my  thoughts. 
It  was  all  a  wild  dream.  The  ignominy  of  it  was  maddening,  but 
that  too  is  past. 

"And  now,  do  you  know,  my  dear,  what  saved  me  ?  I  had  to  get 
far  away  in  order  to  see  myself.  One  midnight,  all  alone  on  the 
deck  of  the  steamer,  I  got  myself  into  focus.  Pray  God  I  may  never 
do  that  same  thing  again !  But  I  needed  it  then.  If  it  had  not  been 
for  you,  I  should  have  flung  myself  away  then  and  there.  The  sea 
tempted  me,  and  my  disgrace  tempted  me.  But  as  I  leaned  over  the 
rail  and  saw  the  moonlight  slip  from  crest  to  crest  of  the  waves,  I 
heard  your  voice  as  plainly  as  if  you  had  been  in  sight  —  no  words, 
only  your  voice.  I  don't  want  you  to  think  there  was  anything 
supernatural  about  it.  Probably  the  tone  of  it  lingered  in  my  ears, 
and  helped  my  conscience  that  was  just  coming  to  life.  But  it  was 
like  a  sign  from  heaven;  and  in  that  moment,  if  I  had  been  dying,  I 
could  not  have  realized  more  clearly  what  you  have  been  to  me. 
Before  that  moment  there  was  nothing  in  me  that  could  appreciate 
you.  I  don't  believe  I  ever  cried  before  in  my  life.  I'm  proud  to  tell 
you  this.  You  will  try  to  believe  I'm  different,  won't  you?  From  that 
time  I  have  planned  and  worked  for  you,  and  it  has  kept  me  alive. 
Rather  it  kept  me  till  life  could  get  hold  of  me  again. 

"  No  matter  what  I  did  at  first.  It  was  honest,  hard  work,  good 
for  the  muscles;  and  in  time  they  helped  the  brain. 

"  Then  I  compiled  books,  and  was  so  useful  to  the  firm  that  they 
made  it  worth  my  while  to  stay  on. 

"  All  this  time  I  couldn't  tell  you.  I  wanted  to  do  something 
more  —  some  great  thing  to  prove  my  shame  and  my  repentance. 
If  I  could  show  you  the  inside  of  my  mind  and  heart,  you  wouldn't 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  131 

be  so  shocked  at  what  I'm  going  to  say.  You  won't  believe  it  at  first, 
because  you  think  you  know  me.  But  you  can't  ever  know  me  as  I 
know  myself  —  as  if  I  were  the  little  fellow  you  used  to  tuck  up 
nights. 

"Try  to  believe  in  me  a  little.  It  will  help  me  more  than  the 
Bible.  For  I  never  knew  anything  in  the  world  like  your  love  for 
me.  I  couldn't  go  wrong  after  I  grew  till  I  was  able  to  realize  that. 

•lla»t  going  to  preach. 

"  And  it  won't  be  just  preaching  either,  for  I  have  practised  too. 
And  now  I  must  tell  some  poor  devil  how  to  crawl  up  higher.  If  I 
hadn't  been  in  the  pit  myself,  don't  you  see,  I  shouldn't  know  what 
was  down  there.  And  I  do  think  I've  got  the  grip  to  pull  men  out. 
If  once  I  do  get  hold  of  a  man,  I  never'll  let  go,  any  more  than  you 
did  of  me,  if  it  drags  me  in  too;  and  just  so  long  as  a  man  has  a 
hold  on  God's  grace  and  his  own  free  will,  he  can  always  get  out 
again. 

"  Xext  year  I'm  coming  back  to  you  with  a  big  bag  full  of  gold, 
and  then  you'll  know  for  certain  that  I'm  your  loving  PHILIP." 

Jessie  said  she  had  heard  of  people's  hair  growing 
white  in  a  single  night,  but  she  never  thought  I  could 
be  a  girl  again  in  a  single  day.  But  Jessie's  eyes  were 
holden,  and  did  not  respond  clearly  to  impressions  that 
evening. 

As  I  think  of  it  now,  the  whole  year  was  -spent  in 
preparation  for  the  coming  of  my  boy.  No  Coming 
of  Arthur  could  be  so  much  to  the  world  at  large  as 
was  this  to  mine.  I  urged  my  sweet  peas  and  sowed 
morning-glories  like  the  sand  by  the  seashore,  and  had 
solid  rods  of  mignonette  and  alyssum  and  heliotrope  — 
flowers  with  souls.  And  they  responded  to  the  desire 


132  A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS 

of  my  heart.  If  the  very  stars  in  their  courses  fought 
against  Sisera,  why  should  not  nature's  forces  be  enlisted 
for  once  on  my  side  ?  For  this,  my  son,  was  dead  and 
is  alive  again  ;  was  lost  and  is  found. 

There  was  a  new  light  in  Philip's  face  when  he 
opened  the  door,  as  if  he  had  but  just  gone  out,  and 
came  softly  in  and  stood  behind  my  chair  —  a  light 
that  was  not  born  with  his  physical  being.  He  looked 
ten  years  older  than  when  I  saw  him  last. 

"  And  Time  had  taken  away  the  seal 
That  held  the  portals  of  his  speech." 

We  could  talk  together  now;  we  could  be  silent 
together. 

I  called  my  neighbors  in,  like  the  hasty  woman  in 
Scripture  who  had  found  her  lost  piece  of  silver,  and 
who  wanted  them  all  to  know  it  and  laugh  with  her. 
Deacon  Thaddeus  came  with  tears  running  from  his 
eyes,  and  knelt  right  down  in  the  middle  of  the  room 
and  thanked  God  for  the  boy.  It  was  the  one  eloquent 
prayer  of  his  life  without  a  break  in  it. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Craig  were  there  ;  and  the  parson,  who 
was  never  known  to  be  at  a  loss  for  words  wherewith  to 
express  every  shade  of  emotion,  could  only  say,  "  Well. 
well,  well !  "  Mrs.  Craig  sniffed  softly  in  a  corner,  and 
Jessie,  like  Martha  of  old,  flew  around  and  set  the  table, 
and  would  have  been  glad  to  "  kill  something."  As  it 


A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS  133 

was  she  prepared  the  way  for  a  week's  fast,  and  joy 
spoiled  no  appetite  that  night. 

Mrs.  Craig  proposed  a  donation  party  for  next  day ; 
but  that  was  only  because  she  was  a  minister's  wife, 
and  didn't  know  how  to  take  her  pleasure  whole, 
without  a  thought  of  the  morrow.  So  I  forgave  her. 
and  we  had  manna  or  its  equivalent  —  honey  and 
crackers  —  for  breakfast.  It  Avas  all  bread  from  heaven 
to  me. 

Philip  stayed  six  weeks,  and  then  I  went  back  with 
him  for  a  year.  It  sounds  very  practical  as  I  write  it, 
but  the  great  joy  in  my  heart  has  made  all  other  pleas- 
ures small.  When  one  holds  the  earth  and  all  heaven 
in  fee  simple,  one  doesn't  whimper  for  a-  garden  spot 
across  the  sea. 

At  first  I  refused  Philip's  proposition,  but  when  he 
said  with  authority  that  he  would  not  go  without  me, 
I  had  to  yield. 

It  was  the  final  proof  of  motherhood :  I  had  come  to 
obey  my  child.  Nor  would  Jessie  hear  of  my  staying  at 
home.  She  said  it  would  be  downright  cruelty  to  let 
Philip  go  back  to  his  lonely  life,  and  she  couldn't  think 
so  meanly  of  me  as  to  believe  I  ever  meant  it. 

It  was  she  who  looked  over  my  wardrobe,  who  shook 
out  and  modernized  my  Junior  Promenade  gown,  "  for 
the  Queen's  sake,"  and  with  Philip's  help  packed  my 
travelling-bag  with  every  known  aid  to  comfort. 


134  A    SPIXSTEK'S  LEAFLETS 

I  had  a  little  maid  to  look  after  the  house  while  we 
.stayed,  and  Mrs.  Thaddeus  begged  to  take  charge  of  it 
while  we  were  away.  So  I  felt  that  the  brown  shell 
would  be  secure  from  moth  and  mould,  and  that  I  need 
not  carry  it  on  ray  back  all  over  Europe.  For  we  did  not 
stop  in  London ;  but  I  was  tenderly  watched  over  through- 
out the  misery  of  a  Channel  passage,  and  left  for  a  two 
weeks'  rest  in  a  quiet  little  town  in  Brittany,  the  home 
of  4i  Gueim."  They  who  have  been  abroad  wince  at  the 
threadbare  tale  of  one's  journeyings,  and  they  who  stay 
at  home  have  read  more  than  I  could  tell  in  a  week, 
so  neither  shall  be  bored  with  a  recital  of  the  surprises 
and  delights  that  filled  my  too  brief  year. 

When  I  glance  over  these  yellowing  leaves,  it  seems 
as  if  they  were  chiefly  a  record  of  apple-blossoms  and 
hearth-fires.  Still,  one  might  have  a  less  agreeable  cal- 
endar to  mark  the  passage  of  the  years,  so  I  choose  to 
give  them  honorable  mention  as  often  as  they  appear. 
But  I  shall  write  no  more  of  them  nor  of  the  brown 
house  itself.  I  have  taken  a  new  lease  of  life,  and  shall 
be  greatly  occupied  with  living.  The  dear  old  home 
has  also  grown  young  —  not  in  outward  form,  for  neither 
Philip  nor  I  could  suffer  that.  But  within  it  is  luxu- 
rious beyond  the  thought  of  any  lavish  nest-decorator, 
and  finer  than  the  hang-birds'  home  that  swings  in  sight 
of  my  window.  It  is  growing  from  the  inside  like  a 
tree. 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  135 

The  ferns  wave  long  and  green  among  the  mosses 
that  line  my  well,  for  I  watered  them  through  the  long 
dry  summer  when  my  neighbors  were  asleep,  that  noth- 
ing might  be  lacking  when  my  boy  came  to  his  own 
again. 

My  children,  Philip  and  Jessie,  are  just  now  gone  for 
a  little  holiday  trip  before  they  begin  their  life  work 
together.  I  bade  them  good-by  an  hour  ago.  Philip 
says  there  is  enough  to  do  on  this  side  the  world,  even 
no  farther  away  than  New  York,  and  that  ragged  folk 
are  not  the  only  ones  who  need  a  helping  hand.  He  is 
even  heretic  enough  to  say  that  many  in  the  front  pews 
of  the  most  orthodox  churches  need  to  be  saved  as  by 
fire. 

Our  own  little  church  is  still  gay  with  thousands  of 
apple-blossoms,  sweet  as  love  and  beautiful  as  hope. 

Squire  Vann  couldn't  understand  why  the  apple  crop 
should  be  cut  off  for  one  wedding,  and  stopped  Deacon 
Thaddeus  at  the  church  door  to  say  that  so  far  as  steady 
work  went,  he'd  as  soon  marry  a  girl  of  his  to  a  charcoal- 
burner  as  to  a  preacher,  and  save  all  this  fuss  and 
feathers. 

But  he  went  in  and  took  the  best  seat  as  willingly  as 
if  he  had  given  his  consent  to  the  transaction. 

Everybody  was  there  to  see  my  pride  in  my  very  own. 
I  suppose  they  looked  like  any  ordinary  bride  and  groom 
to  those  who  did  not  love  them,  but 


136  A    SPINSTER'S   LEAFLETS 

"  Xever  yet  since  high  in  Paradise 
O'er  the  four  rivers  the  first  roses  blew, 
Came  purer  pleasure  unto  mortal  kind" 

than  that  which  came  unsought  to  me  on  this  bright 
fifteenth  day  of  May. 

Jessie  had  never  in  all  her  life  cared  for  any  one  but 
Philip.  Never  for  an  instant  had  she  lost  faith  in  him ; 
never  for  an  instant  would  she  lose  faith  in  him.  Her 
nature  was  stanch  and  loyal  to  the  core. 

Mr.  Craig  prayed  God  to  grant  that  they  might  mer- 
cifully grow  old  together,  which  was  the  very  best  thing 
he  could  have  remembered,  and,  like  the  majority  of 
quotations,  far  better  than  anything  original. 

We  all  lingered  on  the  church  steps  as  they  drove 
away  —  lingered  to  talk  learnedly  about  the  weather 
and  the  new  schoolteacher,  and  Miss  Mercy  Jane's 
neuralgia,  and  similar  things  that  might  have  happened 
in  Jupiter  for  all  the  interest  we  could  find  in  them,  till 
Joe  came  back  to  sit  before  the  altar  for  a  little  while 
with  me,  and  fill  his  soul  with  the  peace  and  beauty  of 
the  hour.  For  it  was  like  what  we  imagine  of  the 
glorious  calm  of  heaven  when  earth's  work  is  finished, 
its  discords  and  harmonies  stilled  together,  and  greater 
things  are  awaiting  their  turn  to  enlarge  our  souls.  It 
came  to  me  then  and  there  that  the  warp  of  life,  strong 
and  enduring,  is  hidden  from  sight  by  the  more  intricate 
woof  that  carries  the  pattern.  If  our  vision  is  clear 


A    SPINSTER'S  LEAFLETS  137 

enough,  we  can  always  find  the  sombre  thread  woven 
side  by  sidj  with  the  blues  and  golds,  the  scarlets  and 
purples ;  crossing  and  recrossing,  dimming  the  lustre 
here  and  there,  but  in  the  end  taking  nothing  from  the 
strength  and  real  beauty  of  the  brightest  fabric.  And 
so  it  shall  be  written  down  here,  that  although  I  alone 
am  grieved  and  privileged  to  know  it,  my  dear  Joe  has 
loved  Jessie  all  his  life. 


THE   END. 


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